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ROUGON-IACQUART FAMILY. 


(LA FORTUNE DES ROUGON.) 


by Simile zola. 

AUTHOR OF “ L , ASSOMMOIR, ,, “ HELENE, ' A LOVE EPISODE,” OR, 
“UNE PAGE D’ AMOUR,” “THE ABBE’S TEMPTATION,” OR, 

“LA FAUTE DE L’ABBE MOURET,” ETC. 


TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH 

BY JOHN STIRLING. 


In "The Roucon-Macquart Family " Zola depicts people as he sees them, but not 
through jaundiced eyes ; he sets down their passions and their weaknesses, their petty 
jealousies, and small rivalries ; his heart is as tender as his pen is forcible, while his 
love of Nature is apparent in every chapter he writes ; his descriptions of scenery and 
floivers are as minute as his dissection of the human heart. No reader, however 
careless, can peruse unmoved the pathetic story of Si Ivor e and Miette, which is as 
absolutely tender and touching as anything known in modern fiction. Their innocent 
love and the terrible tragedy by which it is crowned; the vivid description of the Coup 
d' ftat in the Provinces, where the cause of liberty struggled for two weeks instead 
of dying as in Paris at the end of forty-eight hours, form a series of dramatic pic- 
tures which the translator commends to his readers with the conviction that they, on 
taking up the book, will not lay it down until finished, for no one can deny that Zola 
has painted his pictures in colors which can never fade. 


A OF COH Gf . 
/ x V'' c o PYRIG *r 

/ / ‘v 


t 


'p 


PHILADELPHIA: 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS; ' 
306 CHESTNUT STREET. 


1879.' 


of wyhP*' 





» *- 

copyright: 

T. IB. PETERSOIT &a BROTHERS 

1879. 



« '9 ¥ 


Ii’Assommoir. A Novel. By Emile Zola , the great French novelist. Over One 
Hundred Thousand Copies have already been sold in France of “ L’Assommoir.’' 

“ L’Assommoir” is one of the greatest novels ever printed, and has already attained a 
sale in France of over One Hundred Thousand Copies. It will be found to be one of 
the most extraordinary works ever written, full of nature and of art, dramatic, narrative, 
and pictorial. In it, vice is never made attractive, but “ Zola” paints it in all its hideous 
reality, so that it may tend to a moral end, for in it he unquestionably calls “a spade a 
spade.” As a pictureof woe and degradation springing from drunkenness, “ L’Assommoir” 
is without a rival. Zola has attained a measure of success scarcely paralleled in our 
generation, and his themes and his style, his aims, methods, and performances provoke 
the widest attention and the liveliest discussions throughout the whole of Europe. The 
translator, John Stirling, has done his work in the most able and satisfactory manner. 

Tlie Rongon-Macqaart Family ; or. La Fortune des Roug-on. 

By fimile Zola , author of “ L’Assommoir,” “ Helene," “The Abbe’s Temptation." 

In “Tiie Rougon-Macquabt Family " Zola depicts people as he sees them, but not 
through jaundiced eyes; he sets down their passions and their weaknesses, their petty 
jealousies, and small rivalries; his heart is as tender as his pen is forcible, while his love 
of Nature is apparent in every chapter he writes; his descriptions of scenery and llowers 
are as minute as his dissection of the human heart. No reader, however careless, can 
peruse unmoved the pathetic story of Silvere and Miette, which is as absolutely tender 
and touching as anything known in modern fiction. Their innocent love and the terri- 
ble tragedy by which it i3 crowned; the vivid description of the Coup d’ £tat in the 
Provinces, where the cause of liberty struggled for two weeks instead of dying as in 
Paris at the end of forty-eight hours, form a series of dramatic pictures which the trans- 
lator commends to his readers with the conviction that they, on taking up the book, will 
not lay it down until finished, for no one can deny that Zola has painted his pictures in 
colors which can never fade. 

The AbM’s Temptation ; or, Fa Faute <!e Monrct. A 

Love Story. By lUinile Zola, author of “ L’Assommoir,” “ Helene,” etc. 

“The Abba’s Temptation," by £mile Zola, writes one of the most noted literary 
editors in New York, to John Stirling, the translator, “is the sweetest love story I ever 
read, and is a great book, for there is much in the work that is lovely and pathetic. It is 
a work of marvellous ability, not immoral in any sense, while it teaches a great lesson. 
As Zola depicts the innocent love and purity of the unhappy Abbe, one can scarce believe 
that he, who wrote ‘L’Assommoir,’ can be the author of this sweet, pathetic love story." 

K^lfine, a Fove Episode j or, line Page D’Amonr. By fmile Zola, au- 
thor of “ L’Assommoir,” “The Abbe’s Temptation; or, La Faute de L’Abbe Mouret.” 

“£mile Zola” is the greatest author in France at the present day. His novel 
“ L’Assommoir,” published by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, has already had a sale in Franco 

of over One Hundred Thousand Copies, and “ Helene,” which is extremely interestin''- 

indeed, exciting— lately issued there, has already passed into its forty-eighth edition. 
“Helene” is admirably written, and is full of powerful and life-like delineations of char- 
acter. It is the great sensation in Paris, for the book is admirably written by a truly 
great artist. The characters and scenes in “Helene” are well conceived and well exe- 
cuted, and it is impossible to deny the author’s great skill, for every reader will acknow- 
ledge “Zola’s” great power in “Helene." Besides the story, there are many pages 
devoted to rapturous descriptions of Paris at sunrise, at noonday, at sunset, and at night. 
Zola has made his name famous, and he w ill find plenty of readers for all he writes.” 


TRANSLATOR’S PREFACE. 


“The Rougon -Macquart Family/’ or, “La 
Fortune des Rougon,” is the first in a series of 
volumes — each complete in itself, and yet having 
the same persons appear with more or less persist- 
ency in all. For example, in the present work, 
we see the childhood and early womanhood of 
Gervaise, whose painful history is told with such 
startling fidelity in “L’Assommoir,” while Helene, 
whose name has given the title to the translation 
of “Une Page D’ Amour” — the first translation by 
the way published from Zola in this country — flits 
across the pages in the other volumes to be issued 
in rapid succession — “La Conquete de Plassans,” 
“Le Ventre he Paris,” “La Curee,” and 
“Son Excellence Eugene Rougon.” We again 
see Serge, the sad priest, in “ The Abbe’s 


16 


translator’s preface. 


Temptation,” or, “La Faute de L’Abbe Mouret,” 
and the inimitable Felicite, as well as the kindly 
Dr. Pascal, and the pretty, half-witted Desiree. 

Zola wrote this series with the purpose and idea 
of delineating the physiological development of a 
race having as its predominant characteristic the 
determination to gratify their appetites at all costs 
to themselves and others. 

He depicts in each individual the sentiments, 
desires and passions — all those human manifesta- 
tions in short, which take the name either of 
virtues or vices. 

This race is essentially of the people — is dif- 
fused through all classes — and demonstrates the 
effect on France, and on its social circles, of the 
Second Empire. 

“The Rougon-Macquart Family,” or, “La 
Fortune des Rougon,” will show Zola to many of 
our readers in a new light — that of a humorous 
writer — as nothing can well be more delicious in 
the way of satirical humor than his description of 
the yellow salon and of Felicite, the ambitious 
mother and unscrupulous wife who manages her 


translator’s preface. 


17 


unconscious husband, and impels him in whatever 
path she chooses, he all the time supposing him- 
self to be entirely independent. 

To the occasional touches of ghastly realism we 
are prepared to hear objections — which will come 
mainly from the larger class who read only for 
amusement. No one can deny, however, that our 
artist has painted his pictures in colors which can 
never fade. 

Truth alone in the eyes of Monsieur Zola is 
great — and real Art is Truth. He is quite as bold 
as Homer in his delineations — who also disguised 
nothing, and showed the human heart in all its 
nakedness, but represented broad generalities 
rather than individual peculiarities. Zola, how- 
ever, has an absolute passion for analysis by which 
all his works are characterized, and which adds 
unquestionably to their vigor and interest. 

He depicts people as he sees them, but not 
through jaundiced eyes; his characters are not 
wholly good nor wholly bad ; he sets down their pas- 
sions and their weaknesses, their petty jealousies, 
and small rivalries; his heart is as tender as 


18 


translator’s preface. 


his pen is forcible, while his love of Nature is 
apparent in every chapter he writes ; his descrip- 
tions of scenery and flowers are as minute as his 
dissection of the human heart, and could only have 
been written by a man who felt every word he 
penned. 

Each reader must judge of Zola from his own 
point of view, and to enable him to do this justly 
he should begin with “The Rougon-Macquart 
Family,” or, “La Fortune des Rougon,” and follow 
the author through the seven succeeding volumes. 

No reader, however careless, can peruse unmoved, 
the pathetic story of Silvere and Miette, which is 
as absolutely tender and touching as anything 
known in modern fiction. Their innocent love 
and the terrible tragedy by which it is crowned ; 
the vivid description of the Coup d’Etat in the 
Provinces, where the cause of Liberty struggled for 
two weeks instead of dying as in Paris at the end 
of forty-eight hours, form a series of dramatic 
pictures which the Translator commends to his 
readers with the conviction that they, on taking 
up the book, will not lay it down until finished. 


CONTENTS. 

■ ■■ ■ « ^ ^ > ■■■ - 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. THE GODDESS OF LIBERTY 21 

n. THE THREE BROTHERS 57 

III. PLASSANS AND POLITICS 100 

IY. INSULTS AND WOUNDS 141 

V. “THE MURDER OF THE INNOCENTS” 197 

YI. SHREWDNESS AND COURAGE 253 

VII. THE OLD CEMETERY 342 

(19) 



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4 


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THE 


Rougon-Macquart Family. 

(LA FORTUNE DES ROUGON.) 

FROM THE FRENCH OF 

EMILE Z O E, 

AUTHOR OF “ l'ASSOMMOIR,” “ HELENE ; OR, UNE PAGE d’AMOUR,” “ THE ABBE’S 

temptation; or, la faute de l'abbe mourbt." 

TRANSLATED BY JOHN STIRLING. 


k 

CHAPTER I. 

THE GODDESS OF LIBERTY. 

L EAVING Plassans by the Roman gate on the south 
of the town, after passing the scattered houses of 
the Faubourg, one finds one’s self on the road to Nice, and 
on the right a vacaut space, known by the people under the 
name of Saint-Mittre. 

Saint-Mittre is an elongated square, separated from the 
highway merely by a strip of worn turf. On one side is a 
lane which terminates in a cul-de-sac, and is bordered by a 
row of dilapidated huts. At the left and rear it is shut 
in by two moss-grown wails, over which wave branches of 
the tall mulberry trees on the great estate of Jas-Meiffren, 
which has its entrance lower down in the Faubourg. 

( 21 ) 


22 


THE EOUGOX-MACQUAItT FAMILY. 


Thus shut iu on three sides, Saint-Mittre is like a 
square which leads nowhere, and which is only crossed by 
pedestrians. 

Formerly this spot was a Cemetery under the protection 
of Saint-Mittre — a Provencal Saint much honored in the 
country about. The old inhabitants of Plassans, in 1851, 
talked of having seen the walls of this Cemetery standing 
for years. For a century this spot had been used for 
interments, until finally the authorities of the town were 
compelled to open a new Cemetery on the other side of the 
town, so full had this one become, and Saint-Mittre was 
abandoned and overgrown with crisp dark grass and 
weeds. The soil — which could never be upheaved by 
shovel or pickaxe without bringing to the surface some 
human remains — was appallingly fertile. 

From the highway, after May rains and June suns, the 
herbage was seen overtopping the walls; while within it 
was like a sea of dark green with dashes of strangely 
brilliant flowers, while the damp earth smelled of the 
decaying humanity which nourished this rank vegetation. 
One of the curiosities of this old burial-ground was a huge 
pear tree with gnarled and twisted branches, laden yearly 
with enormous fruit which no housewife in Plassans 
would touch. 

Everybody spoke of this gigantic fruit with disgust, 
except the school-boys of the Faubourg, who were troubled 
with no such scruples of delicacy, and climbed the walls 
at twilight to steal these pears long before they were 
ripe. 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


23 


The glowing life of these trees and this herbage had 
long since devoured all the dead bodies in the old Ceme- 
tery of Saint-Mittre ; and now as one passed along by the 
wall, only the penetrating odor of the wall-flowers was to 
be perceived, and this had been the case for several sum- 
mers. About this time the town awoke to the fact that 
this property was lying idle, and they wished to utilize it. 
They tore down the walls, rooted up the grass, and cut 
down the pear trees. Then they proceeded to move the 
Cemetery. The bones they dug up were heaped in one 
corner, and for a month the children alternately grieved 
over the loss of their pear tree, and played ball with 
skulls, and some of the older lads went so far as to be 
guilty of the very poor jest, of one night hanging tibias 
and femurs on all the door-bells in the town. There 
was a constant repetition of this scandal, of which Plas- 
sans still preserved the tradition, until the bones were 
thrown all together, in a great ditch in the new Cemetery. 

But in the provinces such labors are executed with 
strange slowness, and the inhabitants for many days were 
regaled with the sight of a huge cart, transporting human 
remains as if they had been loads of plaster. 

This cart traversed the length of Plassans, and the 
wretched cobble-stones of the streets jostled out bits of 
bone and handfuls of rich earth all along the road. Not 
the smallest religious ceremony took place. It was merely 
a slow and brutal cartage through an insensible town. 

For many years this ancient Cemetery was looked upon 
with horror. Open to all comers on the side of a great 


24 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


highway, it was soon again overgrown with wild flowers 
and grass. The town had expected to sell it and to see 
houses erected upon it, but they found themselves mistaken 
— the remembrance of the carts laden with human bones 
weighed like a nightmare on the people; or it may have 
been simply the indolence of the provincials, and the re- 
luctance they always feel in undertaking new enterprises. 
At all events, the town kept the land, and, after a time, 
seemed to lose the desire to sell it. 

The authorities did not even fence it in. Any one en- 
tered it who pleased, and by degrees all the inhabitants of 
Plassans became accustomed to this empty corner — wore 
narrow paths across it, and sat on the grassy banks. When 
the paths were well defined, and the beaten earth was gray 
and hard, the old cemetery looked like a public square 
badly cared for and neglected. 

For more than thirty years Saint- Mittre has had a most 
peculiar appearance. The town, too indifferent and sleepy, 
finally let the land for an absurdly small rental as a lum- 
ber yard. At this very day huge beams lie here and there 
on the ground like broken columns, and are a perpetual 
joy to the children, who clamber over them with unweary- 
ing activity, and play there the livelong day; mirthful 
shouts are varied by shrieks of pain, as they fall from the 
planks where they sit in rows balancing themselves by the 
hour together. 

Thus for a quarter of a century has Saint-Mittre been 
the playground of all the children in the vicinity. 

Another thing which gives to this spot a character of its 


TIIE EOUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


25 


own is — that all birds of passage — all wandering Bohemi- 
ans — establish themselves there. As soon as one of those 
mansions on wheels, containing an entire tribe, reaches 
Plassans, they settle themselves on the area of ground 
known as Saint-Mittre. 

The place is rarely empty: there is always some band 
of wild, fantastic-looking people — tawny men, withered 
women, and beautiful children, living a strange out-of- 
door life — boiling their pots in the open air, eating name- 
less things, washing and drying their ragged garments, 
sleeping, quarrelling and fighting — dirty and poor. 

The old burial-ground, where once the bees buzzed 
around the gaudy flowers in the glaring sunlight, has thus 
become a noisy spot, resounding with the sharp voices of 
children and the quarrels of the wandering Bohemians. 

A saw-mill of primitive construction in a sheltered cor- 
ner served as bass to the sharper tones, and for hours two 
men worked it with the regularity of machines. The wood 
they cut was piled against the rear wall in the most 
methodical manner. 

The old mill-stones lying there from season to season, 
eaten with rust, and half overgrown with weeds, were an 
especial charm of Saint-Mittre. They indicated mysterious 
paths, narrow and discreet, which led to a wider alley close 
under the wall, draped with moss, while under-foot the 
ground looked as if covered with a green carpet — around 
which something of the rank vegetation and chilly silence 
of the old Cemetery still lingered. 

From the old tombs, warmed by the hot suns, rose 


26 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


damp odors, and in all the country about Plassans there 
was not a place, so quiet, so peaceful, and so solitary. 

When the Cemetery was emptied, the bones must have 
been piled up in this corner; for it is by no means rare 
even now, as one walks through the damp grass, to dis- 
cover part of a human skull. 

No one nowadays thinks of the dead who have slept 
under this turf. Only children find their way to this 
especial spot when they are playing hide-and-go-seek ; to 
all others the green alley is an unknown territory. 

In the afternoon, when the sun is warm — while the 
children are playing noisily among the wood — and the 
Bohemians are lighting the fire under the kettle, the saw- 
mill rises clear against the sky, keeping up its regular 
movements as if it were the pendulum which regulated all 
the busy life which has invaded this ancient place of 
eternal rest. 

It was only the old people, seated on the beams, basking 
in the setting sun, who talked among themselves of the 
bones they had formerly seen carted through the streets of 
Plassans. 

When night fell, Saint-Mittre was emptied and looked 
like a great black hole, except that at the very back was 
the dying light of the fire kindled by the Bohemians, past 
which an occasional shadow silently flitted. In winter 
especially, the place assumed a most sinister aspect. 

One Sunday evening about seven o’clock, a young man 
passed, entered Saint-Mittre, keeping close to the wall, and 
emerged near the saw-mill. It was early in December, 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


27 


1851 , and excessively cold. The moon was at the full, and 
had the excessive brilliancy peculiar to winter; the saw- 
mill lay silent and motionless, flooded in this white light. 

The young man stood still for a few moments, and looked 
about him doubtfully. He held, half-hidden by his over- 
coat, a musket, whose muzzle, turned toward the ground, 
glittered in the rays of the moon. He pressed the musket 
close to his breast, while he intently examined one after the 
other the black shadows projected by the piles of timber 
They were almost like a checker-board in their regularity. 

In the centre, on a bit of bare and level ground, stood the 
saw-mill, like some monstrous geometrical figure roughly 
drawn with ink on paper. The beams and logs in this 
wintry moon — in this frozen stillness — had more than a 
vague suggestion of the dead in the old Cemetery. 

The young man looked about him. Not a human being 
was to be seen. The solitude appeared absolute. Several 
dark shadows in the distance disturbed him, however; but 
after another investigation he hastily crossed the lumber yard 
and reached the alley running along the wall. There his feet 
made no sound as they trod the frozen grass. He seemed 
more at ease, and no longer appeared to fear any danger. 
He ceased to conceal his musket. The moon shining between 
piles of boards lay in strips of light at his feet. All — 
light and shadow alike — was buried in profound slumber 
— sweet and sad. 

Nothing could be imagined more peaceful than this path. 
The young man traversed its whole length. At the 
extreme end, where the walls of Jas-Meiffren make an 


28 


THE ROTJGON-MACQTJART FAMILY. 


alible, he stood still and listened, as if for some sound from 
the next grounds. 

Then hearing nothing he stooped, thrust aside a board, 
and hid his gun amid the pile of timber. In this corner 
an old tomb that had been forgotten in the days when the 
Cemetery had been moved made a comfortable seat. Rain 
had worn away the edges, and moss and lichens were 
slowly invading it ; but in the moonlight the remains of an 
epitaph engraven on the face of the tomb were to be seen — 
“ Cy — gist — Marie — morte — ” 

Time had effaced all else. 

When he had concealed his gun, the young man, listen- 
ing again and still hearing nothing, stepped up on the 
tomb. The wall was low and he stood leaning upon it; 
beyond the row of mulberries he saw only a plain of 
light. The Jas-Meiffren estate, flat and treeless, ex- 
tended under the moon like a huge web of unbleached 
linen, while a couple of hundred yards away, the house 
and its outbuildings lay in silent whiteness. 

The young man fixed his eyes on this last with evident 
anxiety. The village clock struck seven slowly and sol- 
emnly. He counted each stroke, and stepped down from 
the stone with an air of mingled surprise and relief, and 
took his seat with the air of a man resigned to a long 
period of waiting. He did not seem to feel the cold. 
For a half hour he sat motionless, with eyes fixed as if 
dreaming. He had taken his seat in a dark corner, but 
as the moon rose higher it touched his head, and brought 
out each feature of his face. 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 29 

He was not more than seventeen, and wonderfully hand- 
some, of vigorous build, with an expressive mouth, and the 
delicate skin and coloring of his years. His face was thin 
and long, and chiselled as by some powerful sculptor. The 
high forehead, the arch of the eyebrows, the aquiline nose, 
the well-moulded chin, gave to the whole head a singular 
vigor, which as years went on might become too pro- 
nounced ; but at this hour of puberty the sharpness of out- 
line was softened by the down on cheek and chin, and by 
a vague childishness of expression. The eyes were velvety 
black, and very gentle in expression, imparting sweetness 
to this energetic physiognomy. All women might not be 
attracted by this youth, for he was far from what is usually 
called a handsome fellow ; but his face was so full of 
energy, so sympathetic and strong, that the girls of his 
Province — those warm-blooded Southern girls — dreamed of 
him whenever they had seen him pass their door on July 
evenings. 

He sat, musing, on the tombstone, unheeding the 
moonlight now shining full upon him. He was of me- 
dium height, and somewhat squarely built. His arms 
were muscular, and his hands were those of a working- 
man already hardened by labor. His feet, encased in stout 
leather shoes, looked large and strong. All these members, 
and even his listless manner of sitting, indicated that he 
belonged to the people; but the carriage of his head, the 
flash in his eyes, told a clever observer that he revolted 
against the stultifying manual labor which was already 
beginning to round his shoulders. His mind was quick and 
2 


30 


THE EOUGON-MACQUAKT FAMILY. 


intelligent, but weighed down by his race and his class; 
one of those exquisitely tender natures that suffer, in not 
being able to cast aside their outer husk. Thus, in spite 
of his real strength of character, he seemed timid and 
uneasy — ashamed of his own incompleteness, but not 
knowing in what way to finish himself, if we may be 
allowed the expression. 

He was a brave fellow — ignorant and enthusiastic — a 
manly heart guided by boyish reasoning abilities — self- 
sacrificing as a woman, and courageous as a hero. 

He was dressed in pantaloons and jacket of ribbed 
velveteen. A soft felt hat, pulled down a little in front, 
threw a light shadow over his brow. 

When the half-hour struck from the neighboring clock 
he started. Discovering that he was bathed in the full light 
of the moon, he looked anxiously about him, and with a 
sudden movement retreated into the shadow; but his 
train of thought was hopelessly lost; he realized that 
his feet and hands were like ice, and became impatient. 
Again he stood upon the tombstone and scrutinized the 
Jas-Meiffren estate, where all was silent and vacant. Then 
not knowing what to do to kill time, he descended, took 
up his gun once more from amid the pile of boards where 
he had concealed it, and amused himself with that. 

This gun was a long and heavy carabine, which had 
doubtless belonged to some smuggler. By the thickness 
of the butt end, and the dimensions of the barrel, it was 
easy to see that it had once carried stones, and had since 
been altered by some country blacksmith. 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


31 


The youth ran his hand up and down his gun caress- 
ingly, put his finger into the barrel and examined it care- 
fully; by degrees becoming fired with youthful enthusiasm, 
in which there was a touch of childishness, he shouldered 
his gun and stood like a newly enlisted conscript going 
through his first drill. 

The clock was on the stroke of eight. He stood thus for 
several minutes, when all at once a voice, soft and low as a 
sigh, came from Jas-Meiffren — 

“Are you there, Silvere?” asked the voice. 

Silvere dropped his gun, and leaped once more upon the 
flat tomb. 

“Yes,” he replied, in a voice that was equally low. 
“Wait a moment; I will help you.” 

A young girl’s head appeared above the wall. The 
child, with singular agility, had climbed like a cat into the 
trunk of a mulberry tree. By the rapidity and ease of 
her movements it was easy to see that this strange path was 
not new to her. 

In the twinkling of an eye she was seated on the edge 
of the wall. Then Silvere lifted her in his arms, and 
placed her on the turf ; but she resisted — - 

“ Let me be ! ” she said, with the air of a child playing 
some romping game; “let me be! I can get down per- 
fectly well by myself.” 

Then, when she stood fairly on her feet, she continued: 
“ You have been waiting for me a long time, have you 
not? I ran so fast that I am entirely out of breath.” 

Silvere did not reply; he seemed in no laughing mood. 


32 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


He took his seat by her side, saying gravely: “I wanted 
to see you, Miette, and would have waited all night for 
you. I leave to-morrow morning at daybreak.” 

Miette saw the gun lying on the frozen grass. She, in 
her turn, grew very grave, and murmured : “Ah ! you have 
decided then ; and there is your gun.” 

Then came a long silence. 

“Yes,” answered Silvere, in a trembling voice; “that’s 
my gun. I preferred to leave the house to-night. To- 
morrow morning Aunt Dide might have seen me take it, 
and that would have worried her. I intend to hide it 
somewhere here, and come for it just as we start.” 

As Miette seemed unable to take her eyes from this 
gun which he had so foolishly left full in sight, he took it 
up, and slipped it again among the boards. 

“ We learned this morning,” he said, as he seated him- 
self again, “ that the insurgents of La Palud and of Saint- 
Martin-de-Vaulx were on the march, and that they spent 
last night at Amboise. It has been decided that we shall 
join them there. This afternoon a band of workmen from 
Plassans left the town ; to-morrow all the others will go 
to join their brothers.” 

He uttered this word “brothers” with boyish emphasis. 
Then, with increasing animation, he continued: 

“ The conflict is inevitable ; but Right is on our side, 
and we shall triumph.” 

Miette listened to Silvere, looking before her with wide- 
opened, unseeing eyes. When he ceased speaking, she said 
slowly : 


THE EOUGON-MACQUAKT FAMILY. 


33 


“ It is well.” 

And at the end of a moment she added : 

“ You told me so; but I hoped — I could not but hope. 
But now it is decided.” 

The}' could say no more. This quiet spot breathed the 
most intense melancholy. The only moving things were 
the shadows thrown by the swaying branches of the mul- 
berry trees over the moonlight which flooded the grass. 
The group formed by the two young persons on the tomb- 
stone was as if sculptured from marble. 

SilvSre has slipped his arm around Miette’s waist* and 
she leaned against his shoulder. They exchanged no kisses. 
She gently submitted to his brotherly embrace. 

Miette was wrapped in an ample brown cloak with a 
hood. This garment fell to her feet, and enveloped her 
entirely, so that only her head and hands emerged. 

The women of the people — peasants and work-women — • 
still wear in Provence these large mantles, which they call 
pelisses, and the fashion of which dates from time im- 
memorial. 

Miette had thrown her hood back. She lived out of 
doors, and never wore a hat or cap. Her well-shaped head 
stood out against the wall, whitened by the moon. She 
was a child, but a child who was soon to become a woman. 
She was just at that charming hour of indecision when the 
frolicsome child is transformed into the girl. 

At that time there is always with all adolescents the 
delicacy of an opening bud — the full, voluptuous lines 
of womanhood are indicated in the slender, childish form. 


34 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

Some girls at this period develop too hastily ; they grow 
tall and thin, like weeds or unhealthy plants. 

But for Miette — for all those who are rich in blood and 
who live an out-of-door life — it is an hour of grace and 
sweetness which is never theirs again. Miette was thir- 
teen, and though tall and well grown, no one would have 
thought her older, so radiant was her face with childish 
gayety. 

Thanks to the climate and to the healthy life she led 
she was rapidly becoming a woman. She was almost as 
tall as Silvere, and like him would not have been called 
beautiful by the majority of people. No one could have 
thought her ugly ; but she was odd in her appearance, and 
totally unlike most young girls. 

Her black hair was superb, growing in heavy masses 
over her brow, and falling in rippling waves upon her 
shoulders. It was so thick that she did not know what to 
do with it. She twisted it in several coils, each as large 
as a child’s arm, and massed these coils at the back of her 
head. 

She had little time to think of her coiffure, and it often 
happened that this enormous chignon, hastily made with- 
out a mirror, had a certain classic grace. 

Seeing her with this mass of hair, and the short curls 
on her forehead and on her neck, it was easy to see why 
she always went bareheaded — unheeding rain and cold. 

Her low forehead, her large, somewhat prominent eyes, 
her short nose, with wide, expanded nostrils, the some- 
what full but scarlet lips, might have seemed defects taken 


THE BOUGON-M ACQUAINT FAMILY. 35 

one by one. Bat in the pretty round face, each detail 
formed an ensemble of remarkable beauty. When Miette 
laughed, throwing her head back, and leaning a little 
toward the right, she resembled an antique Bacchante, 
with her firm, full throat, her cheeks rounded like a 
child’s, her beautiful white teeth and her massive hair, 
while her face, bronzed by the sun, had on certain days 
and in certain lights, almost a soft amber tint. 

A fine black down gave a light shadow to her upper 
lip. Manual toil had begun to deform her little hands, 
which would have been, had they remained idle, adorable 
and dimpled. 

Miette and Silvere sat for a long time in silence. They 
contemplated the unknown Future, and in their fear and 
dread of the morrow, they pressed closer to each other. 
Both fully realized the uselessness and cruelty of any audi- 
ble complaint, but the girl was the first to speak, and in 
one phrase revealed their mutual and paramount anxiety. 

“ You will come back?” she murmured, with her arms 
around Silv^re’s neck. 

Silv&re, not daring to reply lest he should weep with 
her, kissed her on her cheek in a brotherly sort of way* 
They then relapsed into silence. 

Miette shivered. She was no longer leaning against 
SilvSre’s shoulders, and felt excessively cold — colder than 
ever before in this deserted spot, where she and her friend 
had spent so many peaceful hours. 

“ I am cold,” she said, drawing up the hood of her 
pelisse. 


36 THE EOUGON-MACQUAItT FAMILY. 

u Shall we walk ? ” asked the young man. “It is not 
yet nine o’clock.” 

Miette remembered, with a pang, that this was the last 
of the evenings for which she lived through long weary 
days. 

“ Yes ; let us walk,” she replied. “ Let us go as far as 
the mill; I can stay with you to-night as long as you 
choose.” 

They left their seat, and stood in the shadow of a pile 
of boards. Miette opened her pelisse, which was quilted 
in small squares, and lined with scarlet cotton, and threw 
one end of this full warm mantle over Silvere’s shoulders, 
wrapping him as well as herself in the same garment. 
They each passed an arm around the other. AY hen they 
were thus confounded, as it were, and had drawn the 
pelisse around them so that they were one shapeless mass, 
they began to walk slowly toward the road, no longer 
afraid of being recognized in the clear moonlight. Miette 
had wrapped Silvere in her cloak, and he had submitted to 
her doing so — in a matter-of-course way as if the pelisse 
had often before rendered them the same service. 

The road from Nice, on the two sides of which extended 
the Faubourg, was bordered in 1851 with century-old 
elms — huge giants, half decayed, but too full of vigor to 
be then replaced, as was the case by the city authorities 
not long since — by small plane trees. 

When Silvere and Miette reached these trees — the 
shadow of whose monstrous branches was thrown all 
along the sidewalk — they met several black figures moving 


THE IiOUGON-MACQUAKT FAMILY. 37 

silently in the shadow of the houses. These were lovers 
wrapped in one mantle like themselves. 

This fashion of walking is peculiar to these towns in the 
South. The young men and girls, belonging to the peo- 
ple — those who intend to marry each other some day— and 
who wish to see each other, and exchange a few kisses 
previously, are often at a loss how to do so. Were they 
to meet in a room they would soon be the talk of the 
town. Nor have they time in the evening to fly to the 
solitude of the country. 

They have, therefore, adopted a third plan — they 
wander through the Faubourg, the vacant lots, the 
winding lanes — all the places where there are few people 
to be met; and as all the inhabitants know them, it is 
considered advisable to make themselves unrecognizable, 
and so wear those huge mantles which will shelter an 
entire family. Parents make no objection to these walks; 
the rigid morals of the Provinces do not seem to be 
alarmed by them, for it is distinctly understood that the 
lovers never seat themselves, nor linger in any of the 
corners. 

Nothing can be more charming than these lovers* walks, 
nor more characteristic of the South. They are absolute 
masquerades full of expedients within the reach of the 
poorest. The girl has but to open her mantle, which is 
an ever-ready asylum and concealment for her lover. 
She hides him next her heart, as the little bourgeoise 
hides her gallant under her bed or in her wardrobe. 
Forbidden fruit has here an especially delicious flavor : it 


38 THE EOUGON-MACQUA TIT FAMILY. 

is eaten in the open air amid indifferent spectators. The 
certainty of being able to embrace each other with im- 
punity before the world, to spend whole evenings in 
each other’s arms without any risk of being recognized, 
or of having the finger of scorn pointed at them, is es- 
pecially precious. One couple is a brown mass precisely 
like the next, without the smallest individuality. To 
the belated passer-by who catches a fleeting glimpse of 
these moving shadows, it is simply Love that passes — 
nothing more. Love without a name! Love that one 
guesses at, rather than sees. 

The lovers feel themselves, as it were, at home. They 
talk in lowered voices, and oftener walk for hours in 
sileuce, happy in being wrapped in the same folds of 
cloth. 

This is at once voluptuous and innocent. The climate 
is the only guilty party, for it invites lovers to an out-of- 
door life. On lovely summer evenings no one can walk 
through Plassans without discovering in each seques- 
tered alley or sheltered corner a hooded couple. Certain 
places, Saint-Mittre especially, are peopled with dark 
dominos, loitering slowly along in the sweet dewy 
silence. They are like the guests of some mysterious ball 
given by the stars. When it is too warm for pelisses, 
the girls turn their upper skirts over their heads, while in 
winter they laugh at frosts and chills. And Miette and 
Silvere walked on the road to Nice without remembering 
that it was December. 

The young people crossed the sleeping Faubourg 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


39 


without exchanging a word. They were absorbed in the 
charm of their proximity to each other. Their hearts 
were very heavy, for their parting was near at hand, and 
the present moments were at once bitter and sweet. 

Very soon the houses became more scattered; they had 
reached the end of the Faubourg, on which opened the 
avenue of Jas-Meiffren, protected by a huge gate, between 
the bars of which could be seen a long row of mulberry 
trees. 

As they passed, Silv&re and Miettc involuntarily glanced 
within. 

After leaving Jas-Meiffren, the highway descends gently 
to the valley, which serves as a bed for a little river — the 
Viorne — which is a brook in summer and a torrent in 
winter. The two rows of old elms were in existence at 
this time, and made a superb avenue, both sides of which 
were planted with wheat and grape vines. 

On this December night, the land, freshly turned over, 
lay gray and dark in the moonlight, while the rush of the 
Viorne was all the sound that disturbed the great peace 
of the country. 

Miette’s thoughts returned to Jas-Meiffren, which they 
had just passed. 

“I had great difficulty in making my escape to-night,” 
she said. “My uncle was shut up in his cellar, where I 
think he was burying his silver, for he seemed terribly 
frightened this morning at what he heard.” 

Silv£re held the girl with a firmer grasp. 

“ Keep up your courage,” he said ; “ the day will come 
when we can see each other at all times and seasons.” 


40 THE EOUGON-MACQUAET FAMILY. 

“All !” murmured the girl, sadly, “you are more cour- 
ageous than I. Some days I am very sad. It is not that 
I am dismayed by the hard work that is imposed upon 
me. On the contrary, I am sometimes glad that my 
uncle is so stern. He was right to bring me up as 
a peasant girl. Sometimes I believe myself to be accursed, 
and then I wish I were dead. I think of — you know 
what I think of.” 

The child’s voice broke here, and she sobbed convul- 
sively. Silvere interrupted her hastily — almost harshly. 

“ Hush ! ” he 6aid, “ you promised never to think of 
that. It was not your crime.” 

Then he added in a gentler tone: “ We love each other, 
do we not? When we are married you will never be 
unhappy again.” 

“ I know,” murmured Miette, “that you are good, and 
that you will help me. But I am afraid, and at times 
even rebellious. It seems to me that a great wrong has 
been committed toward myself, and then I feel wicked. 
I can speak openly and frankly to you. Each time that 
my father’s name is uttered, I feel myself grow hot all 
over. When I pass the children in the street, and they 
call out after me, ‘ There goes the Chantegreil ! ’ I am 
furious, and would like to beat them.” 

She relapsed into gloomy silence, which she broke 
with these words: 

“You are a man — you own a gun and can use it ! You 
ought to be very thankful.” 

Silvere allowed her to speak without interruption, and 
then said, in a sad voice: 


THE EOtJGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 41 

“You are wrong, Miette; your anger is unworthy of 
you. You should not rebel against justice. I am going 
to fight, it is true, but I have no private vengeance to 
gratify.” 

“No matter,” continued the young girl, “I wish I 
were a man and could use a gun. It seems to me that it 
would do me good.” 

And as Silv^re did not speak, she realized that she had 
displeased him. Her excitement abated. She stammered 
in a pleading voice : 

“It is your departure which disturbs me and puts these 
ideas into my head. I know you are right — I know I 
should be humble — ” 

And she began to weep. Silv£re took her hands ten- 
derly in his, 

“You fly from anger to tears just like a child. Be 
reasonable; I am not scolding you. I only wish to see 
you happier, and that depends entirely on yourself.” 

The tragedy whose memory had been so sadly evoked 
by Miette saddened the lovers for some minutes. They 
continued to walk with lowered heads, absorbed in thought. 
At the end of a moment Silvere said ; 

“Do you think I am any happier than yourself? If 
my grandmother had not brought me up, what would have 
become of me? With the exception of Uncle Antoine, 
who is a working man like myself, and from whom I have 
learned to love the Republic, all my other relatives act as 
if I were a disgrace to them, and look away when I pass 
them.” 


42 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


He became excited as lie spoke ; lie stood still in the 
middle of the highway. 

“God is my witness,” he continued, “that I neither 
envy nor hate a human being. But, if we triumph, it may 
come to pass that I shall have some truths to tell to these 
tine gentlemen. Uncle Antoine knows all. You will see 
when we return. We will then live free and happy!” 

Miette drew him gently on. They resumed their walk. 

“You love your Republic very dearly,” said the child, 
with a pitiful effort at a jest; “do you love me as much?” 

She laughed, but with some little bitterness. Perhaps 
she thought that SilvSre found it too easy to leave her. 

The youth replied, gravely: 

“You are my wife. I have given you my whole heart. 
I love the Republic — you see — because I love you. When 
we are married it will bring us much happiness, and it is 
to secure this happiness that I am going away to-morrow. 
You do not advise me to stay at home, do you?” 

“By no means,” answered the girl, eagerly; “a man 
should be courageous — courage is a splendid thing. For- 
give me for being jealous. Would that I were as strong 
as you ; you would love me more then, I am sure ! ” 

She was silent for a moment, and then added, with 
artless innocence: 

“Ah! how gladly — how eagerly will I embrace you 
when you return ! ” 

These words touched Silvere profoundly. He took 
Miette in his arms and kissed her cheek. The girl 
struggled a little, with a faint laugh, but tears were in her 


THE EOUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 43 

eyes. The country was spread before them, cold and 
cheerless. On the left, upon a slight elevation, stood the 
ruins of a wind-mill. This was the point which the young 
people had fixed on as the limits of their walk. They 
had moved on, with hardly a glance to the right or the 
left. But when Silvere had kissed Miette, he looked 
around and saw the wind-mill. 

“ I had no idea we had come so far,” he said. u It 
must be half-past nine ; we must return.” 

Miette made a wry face. 

“Let us go a little further,” she urged. “Only a few 
steps. Come — ” 

Silv&re put his arm around her waist with a smile, and 
they moved slowly on. They no longer feared observa- 
tion, for, since passing the last houses, they had not met a 
living soul ; nevertheless, they were still enveloped in the 
pelisse. This pelisse seemed their natural nest — it had 
sheltered and hidden them for so many happy evenings. 
The soft folds reassured them, and narrowed the horizon 
at which they looked, relieving them from that sensation 
of isolation which weighs down human nature so often 
when a w r ide extent of field and sky is seen. 

It seemed to them that they carried their house with 
them, enjoying the landscape as through a window. 

They ceased to talk ; they held each other’s hands, and 
uttered an occasional exclamation. Silvere forgot his Re- 
publican enthusiasm. Miette thought of nothing except 
that her lover was to leave her in an hour, for a long time — 
perhaps forever. They still moved on, and reached the 


44 


THE BOUGON-MACQUAET FAMILY. 


little path which led from the highway to a village on the 
banks of the Viorne. They did not stop, although this 
was the spot where they had determined to turn back. 
They pretended not to see this path, and it was several 
minutes before Silvere said : 

“ It is late, and you must be very tired.” 

“ No, I am not tired. I could walk leagues with you 
in this way,” answered the girl ; and then, in a coaxing 
voice, she added : “Can we not go down to Sainte-Claire? 
Then we will certainly turn.” 

Silvere, lulled by their measured pace, slept with his 
eyes open, and made no objection. They walked on at a 
slower pace than before, putting off the evil moment when 
they must turn their faces homeward ; for this was the 
signal of their cruel separation. The slope of the road 
was very gradual. The valley is an extent of meadow 
land, running to the Viorne along low hills. These 
meadows, divided by hedges from the highway, are called 
the Sainte-Claire meadows. 

“ We will go as far as the bridge,” now said Silvere, in 
his turn. 

Miette laughed gayly, and threw her arms around her 
lover’s neck with a hearty kiss. 

The long avenue of trees led just where the hedge be- 
gins, and two enormous elms stood a little apart from the 
others. From this point to the bridge was less than four 
hundred yards, but the lovers took more than fifteen min- 
utes to walk this distance. In spite, however, of all their 
tardy movements, the bridge was reached at last. There 
they stopped. 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 45 

Before them, the road to Nice wound up the hill, but 
they soon lost it as it made a sharp turn between two 
wooded slopes. The road by which they had just come 
looked like a long ribbon of silver, while the upheaved 
land on the sides was gray in the moonlight. Lights 
yet shone from some of the windows of the houses in the 
Faubourg. Miette and Silvere had walked a good league. 

They looked down as they leaned over the bridge. The 
Viorne, swollen by the recent rains, ran swiftly past with a 
dull, continuous roar. Up and down the banks they could 
see the black lines of trees. Here and there a ripple caught 
the moonlight, and looked like the glittering scales of 
some monstrous fkh. 

The young lovers knew this place well, for on warm 
July evenings they had often come there in search of cool 
breezes,, and had spent hour after hour among the willows 
on the left bank. They remembered every turn, and every 
stone on which they crossed the Viorne, which, at mid- 
summer, was as slender as a thread. 

Miette looked longingly toward the opposite shore. 
“ If it were only warmer,” she said, " we could rest there 
a while.” 

Then, with her eyes still fixed on the place she had 
learned to love so well, she added : “ Do you see that 
dark spot, Silvere? That is the place where we sat on 
last Corpus Christi.” 

“Yes; I remember,” answered Silv&re, in a low voice. 

It was there he first ventured to kiss her on her 
cheek, and this remembrance awakened by the young 
girl, gave them both pain and pleasure. 

3 


46 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

They saw, as by a flash of lightning, the happy evenings 
they had spent together, and more especially the one of 
Corpus Christi, of which they recalled the smallest details 
— the soft air, the cool freshness of the willows on the banks 
of the Yiorne, the very words they had uttered to each 
other. 

And even as they dwell on the Past, they thought of 
the unknown Future; they saw themselves walking side 
by side through life as they had walked on the highway — 
wrapped in the folds of the same pelisse. 

Then, eyes looking into eyes, they smiled. 

Suddenly Silvere lifted his head, and throwing back the 
pelisse he listened intently. Miette, much surprised, imi- 
tated him, without understanding why he drew away from 
her with so decided a gesture. 

They heard a confused noise among the hills amid which 
wound the road to Nice. It was like the rattle of many 
wheels and wagons. The roar of the river drowned this 
noise for a time. But it soon grew more distinct, and the 
heavy tread of a body of troops was distinguished, and 
then a strange and measured sound, which it was almost 
impossible to define, smothered as it was by the hills. 
Suddenly a black mass emerged from among them, and the 
Marseillaise burst forth, sung with inconceivable and for- 
midable fury. 

"It is they!” cried Silvere, enthusiastically. 

He began to run, dragging Miette with him, until he 
reached a slight eminence crowned by a clump of young 
oaks, upon which the two climbed, that they might not be 
swept away by the advancing crowd. 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 47 

The young girl, when they were safe in this spot, looked 
sadly down on these men, whose distant voices had been 
enough to tear her lover from her arms. It seemed to her 
as if the whole body of troops was now between her and 
him. They were so happy only a few moments before — so 
closely united — so alone in the soft moonlight; and now Sil- 
v§re did not even seem to know that she was there, and had 
eyes only for these unknown, whom he called brothers. 

The band swept on. Nothing could be imagined more 
superb than this irruption of this mass of men on the dead 
and frozen peace of the scene. The highway was a living, 
rolling torrent, that seemed exhaustless, and the air was full 
of the voices of this human tempest. When the last 
battalions appeared, the Marseillaise filled the sky and 
echoed through the valley. The whole country shivered, 
as it were, and repeated the notes of the National hymn. 
The very trees and bushes joined in the chorus, and the 
wide valley seemed peopled with invisible crowds who 
joined in the chorus of the insurgents — all along the 
Viorne, in every mysterious shadow, hidden voices caught 
up the refrain with indignant anger. The whole country 
clamored for Vengeance and Liberty ! 

While the little army descended the hill side, they con- 
tinued to sing until the very stones under their feet rever- 
berated. 

SilvSre, pale with emotion, listened and looked. 

“ I thought,” murmured Miette, “ that they would not 
go through Plassans.” 

“The plan has been changed,” answered Silv&re. “We 


48 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

were to have marched by the Toulon road, leaving Plas- 
sans and Orcheres on the left. They left Alboise this 
afternoon, and must have passed Tulettes in the evening.” 

The head of the column had by this time reached the 
young people, and the small army was characterized by 
more order than one would expect in a band of undisci- 
plined men. The quotas from each town formed distinct 
battalions, and must have numbered all together some 
three thousand men. 

As they defiled past Miette, she instinctively drew closer 
to Silv£re and leaned her head against his shoulder. Her 
face, framed by the hood of her pelisse, was very pale, and 
her eyes were fixed on this rapidly moving crowd and on 
the strange faces transfigured by enthusiasm, whose wide 
open mouths were filled with the avenging cry of the 
Marseillaise. 

SilvSre, feeling her tremble at his side, leaned over her 
and whispered in her ear the names of the various con- 
tingents as they presented themselves. 

The column marched in lines of eight. In front came 
tall fellows with square heads, who looked as strong as 
Hercules. The Republic had in them blind and intrepid 
advocates. They carried over their shoulders huge axes 
freshly sharpened, whose steel glittered in the moonlight. 

u Those are the wood-cutters from the forests of La 
Seille,” said Silv&re. “ They have formed themselves into 
a body of sappers. Upon a sign from their chiefs, these 
men will hew down the gates of every town between here 
and Paris, just as they would the old cork trees on the 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


49 


mountain sides.” The young man spoke proudly of the 
strong arms of his brothers. 

Behind the wood-cutters came a band of workmen, with 
heavy beards browned by the sun. “ The contingents from 
La Palud, which was the first Bourg to rise,” whispered 
Silv^re. “ Those in the velvet jackets are the charcoal- 
burners from the mountain gorges. Those huntsmen there 
knew your father, Miette. They have good arms, which 
they know how to use. Ah ! if all had as good ; but the 
workmen you see have only clubs.” 

Miette did not reply. When Silv£re spoke of her 
father, her cheeks flushed angrily, and she watched the 
men with a feeling of strange sympathy. From this 
moment she seemed feverishly excited by the words and 
music sung by the insurgents. 

The column swept on as if blown by the mistral. To 
the people from Palud had succeeded more workmen in 
blouses, among whom many bourgeois in coats were to be 
seen. 

“ Those are the men from Saint-Martin-de-Vaulx,” re- 
sumed Silvere. “That Bourg was the next to rise after 
La Palud. The masters joined their workmen. They 
are rich men, Miette — men who could live comfortably at 
home, and who yet risk their lives in the defence of Lib- 
erty. Look, Miette ! those men who have a red scarf tied 
around their left arms are the chiefs. 

“And here come the insurgents from Alboise and 
Tulettes ! I see Burgat, the blacksmith. How fast they 


50 


THE ROUGON-MACQUAKT FAMILY. 


Miette leaned forward, choked with emotion. At this 
moment a battalion better drilled and better disciplined 
than the others came in sight. There was a suggestion of 
a uniform in their blue blouses and red scarfs around their 
waist. In the centre was a man on horseback, having a 
sabre at his side. The greater number of these soldiers 
had guns or old muskets, once belonging to the National 
Guard. 

“ I do not know who those are,” said Silv^re. “ The 
man on horseback must be the chief of whom I have heard, 
and he has gathered up his men from various places.” 

Behind this battalion came groups of ten or twenty — 
all wearing the short jackets of the peasants. They bran- 
dished pitchforks and scythes as they sang; some even 
carried shovels. Each hamlet had sent its men. 

SilvSre, who knew them all, named them with feverish 
excitement. 

“ The contingents from Chavanoz,” he said. “ There 
are only a few of them, but they are strong fellows. Uncle 
Antoine has told me all about them. And look ! there is 
the Cur6. I heard he was a good Republican ! ” 

“Look, Miette,” he continued, in feverish haste, “Rosan ! 
Vernoux — Corbiere — Saint-Eutrope — ah! child, the whole 
country is with us ! Look at those men. Look at their 
arms ; they are as hard and black as iron ! Here come 
the smugglers from Roches-Noires! More scythes and 
pitchforks — more men from the country! Sainte-Anne — ! 
Castel-le-Vieux ! Estourmel ! Murdaran ! ” 

His voice was strangled in his throat by emotion. His 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 51 

form seemed to expand, as with eager face and nervous 
gesture he pointed out these people to Miette, who still 
clung to his neck as she leaned over the road. This mass 
of wild faces, these boys and old men in their strange 
garbs and stranger weapons, affected the girl like an im- 
petuous mountain torrent. It seemed to her sometimes as 
if they no longer moved — as if they had been run over by 
the Marseillaise itself, by that hoarse melody with its 
formidable echoes. She could not distinguish the words ; 
she heard only the continuous roar, the vibrating notes, 
sharp as arrows, that seemed to pierce her very flesh. 

This tumult of revolt — this appeal to Conquest and 
Death, with its bursts of anger — its burning longing for 
Liberty, its marvellous mixture of massacres and enthusi- 
asm — woke strange echoes in her heart, which swelled with 
the voluptuous anguish of a virgin martyr who smiles 
under the lash. 

Miette was a mere child. She had turned pale at the 
approach of the multitude, and wept at its coming between 
her and her lover. But she was courageous and of an 
ardent nature, easily fired into enthusiasm. She was quite 
ready now to snatch a gun and follow the insurgents. Her 
white teeth looked longer and sharper between her red lips, 
suggesting the fangs and the eagerness of a young wolf. 

As she heard Silvere hurriedly name the contingents, it 
seemed to her that they moved more rapidly with each 
word he uttered. She grew dizzy as she watched this 
crowd, swept on as it were by a tempest. She closed her 
eyes, and hot tears rolled down her cheeks. 


52 THE KOUGOST-MACQUART FAMILY. 

Tears also stood in Silv&re's eyes. 

“I do not see one of the men who left Plassans this 
afternoon,” he murmured. 

He turned to find the end of the column, still in 
the shadow. Suddenly he cried out, with triumphant 

j°y= 

“ There they are ! They have the flag ! The flag has 
been intrusted to them ! ” 

He seemed eager to join the insurgents, but at this 
moment the troops stopped. Orders ran along the column. 
The Marseillaise died away, and only the confused murmur 
of the crowd was. heard. Silv£re understood the orders, 
which summoned the Plassans men to the head of the band. 
As each battalion drew up at the side of the road to allow 
the flag to pass, the young man drew Miette on. 

“ Come,” he cried, “ we must reach the other end of the 
bridge before they do.” 

They ran quickly toward a mill where there was a dam. 
They crossed the Viorne on boards which the millers 
had thrown there. They then passed through the Sainte- 
Claire meadows, still holding each other by the hand and 
running fast, without speaking a word to each other. The 
troops stood in a heavy mass on the highway, which 
Silv6re and Miette finally attained through a gap in the 
hedge. 

Notwithstanding the detour they had made, they reached 
this place at the same moment with the people from 
Plassans. Silv^re exchanged a shake of the hand with 
some wdio thought he had come to join them. Miette, 


THE KOUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 53 

whose face was hidden in her hood, was looked at with 
some curiosity. 

“Why! It is La Chantegreil ! ” said a man from the 
Faubourg; “Rebufat’s niece — Jas-Meiffren’s girl !” 

Silvdre, in his enthusiasm, totally forgot the singularity 
of his sweetheart’s appearance at this hour, and the cer- 
tainty of the rough jokes she would be called on to endure. 
Miette, in great confusion, turned to her lover for aid. 
But, before he could open his lips, a voice was heard, and 
these brutal words: 

“ Her father is a convict — we will not have with us 
the daughter of a robber and an assassin.” 

Miette turned deadly pale. 

“You are lying,” she said, slowly; “if my father 
killed a man he never robbed any one.” 

And as Silvere grasped her wrist, paler and more 
agitated than herself, she pushed him aside. 

“ Let me alone ! ” she said, “ this is my affair.” 

And turning toward the men, who were crowding 
around her, she repeated, with growing excitement, 

“You lie! You lie! He never took one sou from 
any one You know that perfectly well. Why do you 
insult him when he is not here to answer for himself?” 

She threw back her head haughtily. She was superb 
in her anger. Her half-savage nature seemed to accept 
calmly the accusation of murder, but the accusation of 
robbery exasperated her. These men knew this very well, 
and this was why they said it, merely to incense her. 

The man who had called her father a robber, to be sure, 


54 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

merely repeated what he had heard for years, and he and 
his companions simply sneered at the child’s violence. 
Silv&re clenched his fist and the scene might have had a 
disastrous termination, if a chasseur from La Seille, who 
was sitting on a pile of stones at the edge of the road, had 
not come to the assistance of the young girl. 

“ The child is right,” he said ; “ Chantegreil belonged to 
us — I knew him. No one ever understood the affair. 
But I for one believed in the truth of his declarations 
before the judges. The gendarme he shot was just going 
to bring him down, and he merely defended himself, you 
understand. Chantegreil was an honest man. Chante- 
greil never stole.” 

As always happens in such cases, the support of this 
man was sufficient to turn the scale, and Miette had 
plenty of defenders. Many of the workmen seemed to 
have known Chantegreil. 

“You are right!” they cried. “ He was not a robber. 
There are at Plassans plenty of scamps who ought to have 
been sent in his place. Chantegreil was our brother. 
Don’t be troubled, little girl ; it is all right.” 

Never before had Miette heard a kind word said of her 
father. He was spoken of always before her as a rascal, 
and now she had at last met kind souls who declared 
him to be an honest man. She burst into tears, and felt 
again the choking emotion which the Marseillaise had 
before aroused, and tried to thank these men. She longed 
to grasp their hands as if she were a man too, but a happier 
inspiration came to her. At her side stood the flag-bearer. 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


55 


She put out her hand and touched the flag as she said, in a 
supplicating tone, 

“ Give it to me. Let me carry it.” This was her only 
thanks. 

The simplc-natured workmen understood her. 

“ That is it ! ” they cried. “ Let La Chantegreil carry 
the flag.” 

A wood-cutter remarked that she would soon be very 
tired if she went far. 

“ Oh ! I am strong,” she said proudly, rolling up her 
sleeves as she spoke, and showing her pretty round arms, 
as full already as those of a woman. 

And as they held the flag toward her she cried — 

“ Wait a moment ! ” 

She took off her pelisse, which she put on again after 
turning out the red lining. Then she appeared in the 
moonlight draped in this full scarlet mantle, which fell 
from her throat to her heels. 

The folds of the hood adapted themselves to her chignon 
almost in the shape of a Phrygian cap. She took the flag 
and pressed the staff to her bosom, standing erect with the 
folds of this sanguinary banner floating behind her. Her 
beautiful head with its heavy masses of hair ; her large 
liquid eyes; her lips half parted with a smile; her expres- 
sion of haughty energy — all gave her the air of a Virgin 
Goddess of Liberty. The insurgents burst into tumultuous 
applause. These Southerners, with their vivid imagina- 
tions, were carried off their feet by the sudden apparition 
of this girl in the scarlet drapery, holding their flag against 
her breast. 


56 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

Shouts and cries were heard. 

“ Bravo, La Chantegreil ! Long live La Chantegreil ! 
She shall stay with us ! She will bring us happiness ! ” 

The order for forming into marching order was given. 
Miette pressed Silvere’s hand, and whispered in his ear : 

“ You hear? I shall stay with you. Are you glad?” 

SilvSre returned the pressure silently. He accepted the 
position, and was as enthusiastic as his companions. 
Miette appeared to him so beautiful and so saintly. All 
along the road he kept his eyes upon her. She and his 
other mistress — the Republic — were now one and the 
same. He wished he had come with his gun on his 
shoulder. 

In the meantime the insurgents moved slowly on, 
making as little noise as possible. The column advanced 
between the two rows of elms, winding like a gigantic ser- 
pent. The December night had regained its silence, and 
the roar of the Viorne was again heard. When they 
reached the first houses of the Faubourg, Silvere ran forward 
to seek his gun, which he had left at Saint-Mittre, and 
which he found peacefully reposing in the moonlight. 

When he rejoined the insurgents, they were at the Roman 
gate. 

Miette leaned toward him, and said with her childlike 
smile : 

“ It seems to me that I am in the Corpus Christi pro- 
cession, and that I am carrying the Virgin’s banner.” 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


57 


CHAPTER II. 

THE THREE BROTHERS. 

P LASSANS is a town of ten thousand inhabitants. 

Built on a plateau which overlooks the Viorne, 
sheltered on the north by the last ramifications of the 
Alps — the Garrigue hills — the town is, as it were, situated 
at the bottom of a cul-de-sac. 

In 1851 it had but two roads communicating with the 
outside world — the Nice road, which is at the east, and the 
road to Lyons on the west — the one being almost a contin- 
uation of the other. But since this date a railroad has been 
constructed which passes a little south of the town at the 
foot of a hill, and to-day when one leaves the Station, 
on the right shore of the river, one sees the first houses 
of Plassans with their terraced gardens. To reach these 
houses an up-hill walk of some fifteen minutes’ duration is 
required. 

For twenty years — owing probably to its lack of com- 
munication with other cities — this town had more entirely 
preserved its peculiar and aristocratic character than any 
other of the Provengale towns. It had then and still has 
a very superb Quartier, whose hotels are superb, built 
under Louis XIV. and Louis XV. — a dozen or more 
churches, Jesuit and Capuchin monasteries and a consider- 
able number of convents. The distinction of classes is 


58 THE EOUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

governed by the division of Quartiers. Plassans numbers 
three, each of which is a Bourg in itself, having its own 
churches, promenades and customs. 

The Quartier of the nobles, called the Quartier Saint- 
Marc, is a miniature Versailles, with straight streets, 
overgrown with grass, whose huge square mansions con- 
ceal large gardens, while others have a double row of 
terraces commanding a view of the Viorne. 

The old Quartier — the ancient town — spreads out on 
the northwest its narrow and winding streets — there stands 
the Mayoralty, the Courts, the Market, and the police- 
stations. This, the most densely populated portion of Plas- 
sans — is mostly occupied by workmen and poor people. 
The new town forms a sort of long square on the north- 
east. The Bourgeoisie, those who have amassed a fortune, 
sou upon sou, and those who exercise a liberal profession, 
live there in straight lines of houses of an invariable yel- 
low hue. Here stands also the Sous-Pr6fecture — an ugly 
building of ornamented stucco. The streets of this Quar- 
tier in 1851 were few in number, for it was then of recent 
construction, built since the railroad. The town is sur- 
rounded by a belt of ancient ramparts, which serve to 
make it only more dingy and confined. As fortifications, 
these ramparts are simply ridiculous — worn away, as they 
are, by clambering ivy and wall-flowers. They are 
pierced by numerous openings, of which the two most 
important are the Homan gate, opening on the road to 
Nice, and the Grand Gate, on the road to Lyons. Up to 
1855 these entrances were guarded by enormous wooden 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 59 

gates, opening in the middle, and strengthened by iron 
bars. 

At eleven o’clock in summer, at ten in winter, these 
doors were locked ; and the town — having like a timid girl 
seen the bolts pushed — retired, and slept calmly. 

A guard, who inhabited a tiny house situated within one 
of the angles, had orders to open the gates for belated 
travellers. But he never did this without a lengthy argu- 
ment, nor did he ever allow any one to enter without 
lighting his lantern and examining each face, and if these 
happened to displease him, ten to one, the unfortunate 
possessors were kept outside. 

The population of Plassans was divided into three 
groups, so to speak. All the official personages were 
strangers, little loved, and much envied. The true in- 
habitants — those who were born there, and who firmly 
intended to live and die there — respected themselves too 
much not to be very exclusive. 

The nobles cloister themselves hermetically. Since the 
fall of Charles X. they hardly go out at all, and entrench 
themselves in their great, silent Hotels, moving about as 
cautiously as if in the land of an enemy. They go no- 
where and receive no one, not even among themselves. 
Their salons are opened only to priests. In summer they 
go to their Chateaux in the neighborhood. In winter they 
remain at their firesides, utterly weary of life. Their 
Quartier is as calm and quiet as a Cemetery. Doors and 
windows are cautiously barricaded, and the houses look 
like rows of convents. An occasional abbe passes down 


60 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

the street, and disappears like a shadow through some 
half-open door. 

The Bourgeoisie — retired merchants, lawyers, and nota- 
ries — all the middle-class world in fact, try to give a little 
animation to Plassans. They go to the fetes given by the 
Prefect, and dream of others precisely like them, which 
they wish to give in return. They make earnest efforts 
for popularity, speak of the workingman as a “ good fel- 
low,” talk about the crops to the peasants, read the papers, 
and walk out on Sundays with their wives. These are the 
advanced minds of the place — the only ones who venture 
to laugh as they talk of the ramparts. They have even 
gone so far as to advise the demolition of these old walls — 
“ relics of the dark ages,” they call them. 

Most of them are thrilled with joy when they receive an 
indifferent bow from a Marquis or a Count. Their dream 
is to be received in a Salon of the Quartier Saint-Marc. 
They know very well that there is not a shadow of a hope 
that this dream will ever be realized, and this is what 
makes them free-thinkers ; but free-thinkers who are ready 
to rush to the arms of the authorities for protection, at the 
least movement of dissatisfaction among the people. 

The class which toils and vegetates in the old Quartier 
is not as clearly defined. The working classes are there 
in the majority ; but there are also quite a number of petty 
tradespeople, and even some few merchants of importance. 

Plassans is far from being a centre of commerce. There 
is only traffic enough there to dispose of the productions of 
the vicinity — oil, wine and almonds. As to mechanical 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


61 


industries, there are none, except three or four tanneries in 
one street of the old Quartier — a manufactory of felt hats — 
and a soap-boiling factory exiled to a distant corner. This 
small commercial world lives surrounded by workmen, 
with whom they are united by common interests into one 
family. On Sundays the masters wash their hands of it 
all, and depart. 

Once in each week in summer the three Quartiers of 
Piassans meet face to face. All the town go to the Cours 
Sauvaire on Sunday after vespers — the nobles as well as 
the others. But on this Boulevard, planted with a double 
row of trees, three distinct currents are established. For 
more than a century the nobility have promenaded at the 
southern extremity in front of the large hotels — the people 
have contented themselves with the northern end, where 
are the Cafes and tobacco shops; and all the afternoon the 
nobles and the working classes pace up and down, without 
either dreaming of infringing on the other. Separated 
by a few yards, they are in reality leagues apart. Even 
in the days of the Revolution each kept to his own 
path. This is the Sunday walk, which occurs as regu- 
larly as the day returns. It was in this dull atmosphere 
that in 1848 vegetated an obscure family whose head, 
Pierre Rougon, played in after days an important role. 

Pierre Rougon was a peasant’s son. The family of his 
mother, the Fonques, as they were named, owned, at the 
end of the last century, a large tract of land in the Fau- 
bourg, in the rear of the old Cemetery Saint-Mittre. This 
laud, later on, was added to Jas-Meiffren. The Fonques 
4 


62 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


were the wealthiest market gardeners in the country, and 
furnished vegetables to half Plassans. 

The name of the family was extinguished some years 
before the Revolution. One girl only remained — Ade- 
4 laide, born in 1768, who became an orphan at eighteen. 
This child, whose father had died mad, was a tall creature, 
pale and thin, with timid eyes and a manner so singular 
that it could only be overlooked while' she was a child. 
As she grew older she became more and more singular, 
and the story ran that she was as crazy as her father. 

She had been her own mistress about six months, when 
she suddenly married a gardener named Rougon — a rough 
peasant from the Alps. 

This Rougon, after the death of the last of the Fonques, 
whose servant he had been, remained in the employment 
of the daughter of his deceased master, and was soon pro- 
moted to the position of her husband. 

This marriage was a perpetual astonishment to the 
people about, none of whom could understand why Ade- 
laide preferred this dull, heavy, uncultivated fellow, who 
could hardly speak a word of French, to such and such 
young fellows — sons of rich farmers in the vicinity, 
who had been attentive to her for some time, and, as 
in the country nothing is allowed to rest without ex- 
planation, it was asserted that there was a mystery in the 
affair, and that the marriage had become a necessity. 

But facts gave the lie to this scandal. It was a full year 
before Adelaide’s child was born. This put her neighbors 
out of temper, as they were unwilling to admit that they 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 63 

had been in error, and they continued to keep a vigilant 
eye on the Rougon household. They soon had ample food 
for talk. Rougon died very suddenly fifteen months after 
his marriage, from a sunstroke he received one day while 
weeding his carrots. 

A year had not elapsed when the young widow was 
known to have a lover. In fact she made no attempt to 
conceal it. Several persons professed to have heard her 
address poor Rougon’s successor in terms of endearment. 

A year of widowhood only and a lover ! Such a disre- 
gard of propriety was unheard of, and only to be excused 
on the ground of a disordered mind. Adelaide’s strange 
choice made the affair still more conspicuous. 

At the end of Saint-Mittre there resided at this time, 
in a house whose rear windows overlooked the Fonque 
estate, a man of a very bad reputation, who was called by 
every one " that scamp of a Macquart.” This man had a 
way of disappearing altogether for entire weeks, then he 
would be seen again some fine evening with his hands in 
his pockets, calmly lounging about and whistling, with as 
much easy indifference as if he had just returned from a 
little stroll, and the women seated on their door-steps 
would say to their neighbors : 

“Look at that scamp of a Macquart! He has hidden 
his gun among the rocks on the shore of the Viorne.” 

It was certain that Macquart did no business and had no 
income, but he eat and drank with an easy countenance; 
sitting alone at a table in a cabaret, he night after night 
would drink himself tipsy in solemn silence, and when the 


64 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

doors of the establishments were closed, would depart 
with a firm tread and with his head held high. 

“ Macquart walks very straight,” people would say; 
“ he is dead drunk.” 

Generally, or when he had not been drinking, his figure 
was slightly bowed, as if he wished to escape the looks of 
curiosity which were levelled upon him. 

Since the death of his father, a tanner, who had be- 
queathed to his son as his sole inheritance, the house in 
Saint-Mittre, he seemed to have neither friends nor family. 
The proximity of the frontiers, and the vicinity of the 
forests of La Seille, had made a smuggler of this singular 
fellow. 

His appearance was far from attractive, and the people 
who saw him often said, “I should not like to meet him at 
midnight in a lonely path in the woods!” 

Tall and heavily bearded, with a sharp, thin face, 
Macquart was the terror of the Faubourg. The women 
accused him of eating children, and of many other crimes. 
Although hardly thirty, he seemed to be fifty. Under his 
thick beard and long hair, which fell over his forehead 
like that of a poodle-dog, the glitter of his brown eyes was 
to be seen. They peered out with the uneasy furtive 
glance of a man with vagabond instincts — one who has 
( been perverted by wine and the life of a paria. Although 
no one could point with certainty to any crime committed 
by him, there was not a robbery, not a murder in the 
country roundabout, that he was not the first man 
suspected. 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 65 

And it was this ogre, this brigand, this “ scamp of a 
Macquart,” whom Adelaide had chosen ! She had two 
children in twenty months — a boy and a girl ; but of mar- 
riage there was no talk. Never had the Faubourg been 
so confounded. The stupefaction was so great at the idea 
that Macquart could find a mistress both young and beau- 
tiful, that the gossips were really very gentle in their 
dealings with Adelaide. “ Poor thing ! she must have 
become absolutely mad,” they said. “If she had any 
family they would certainly shut her up.” 

And as the true history of this strange affair was buried 
in obscurity, it was “this scamp of a Macquart” who was 
accused of taking advantage of Adelaide’s feeble intellect 
to rob her of both honor and fortune. 

The legitimate son, Pierre Kougon, grew up with the 
other children, “ the young whelps,” as they were called 
by the gossips. Adelaide treated them all three with equal 
kindness, seeming to recognize no difference between 
Ursule and Antoine, the children of Macquart, and her 
husband’s. She did not appear to understand that these 
poor creatures had a different position from her elder 
son. They were all her children, and that was enough for 
her. She would take them out walking, holding Pierre 
by one hand and Antoine by the other, unconscious of the 
very different manner in which the two children were 
regarded. 

It was a most singular household. For twenty years 
children and mother lived in their own way, acknowledg- 
ing no law except their own whims. Adelaide was still 


66 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

the childish creature whom half the persons who knew her, 
believed to be mad — not that she was so, but there was a 
certain lack of equilibrium between the blood and the 
nerves — a certain derangement of brain and of heart which 
made her very different from other people. 

She was very natural-very logical with herself; only 
her logic became pure lunacy in her neighbors’ eyes. She 
seemed perfectly willing to be conspicuous in all ways, 
and made not the smallest attempt to stand against temp- 
tation. 

For some time she had been subject to nervous attacks, 
which at times threw her into violent convulsions. These 
recurred every two or three months. The physicians 
when consulted replied they could do nothing ; that age 
would calm this excitement. They put her on a simple 
diet, and gave her tonics. These repeated attacks unset- 
tled her mind still further. She lived the life of a child 
or of an animal, guided only by her instincts. When 
Macquart was away, she passed her days in dreamy indo- 
lence, occupying herself with her children, only to the 
extent of caressing and playing with them. As soon as 
her lover was at home again, she would disappear. Be- 
hind the Macquart house there was a little court divided 
by a wall from the Fonque estate. One morning the 
neighbors were surprised to see this wall pierced by a door 
which was not there the night before. Within an hour 
the entire Faubourg had passed by and examined the 
place. The lovers must have,worked all night to arrange 
this door, which would in future allow them to pass easily 


THE EOUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 67 

to and fro. All the old gossip was again renewed, and 
Adelaide was spoken of less charitably. She was openly 
denounced as a disgrace to the Faubourg. This door, 
with its frank and brutal avowal of her life, was worse 
even than the existence of her two children. 

“The least she can do is to have some regard for ap- 
pearances,” said the most tolerant of the women in the 
neighborhood. 

But to “ appearances” Adelaide paid little heed; on the 
contrary, she was quite proud of her door. With her own 
hands she had assisted Macquart in pulling the stones out 
of the wall. She herself had mixed the plaster to hasten 
the task; and when, the next day, the gossips, peering 
from their windows, saw her quietly contemplating the 
still fresh masonry, they were horrified at what they called 
her audacity. 

So little was Adelaide seen after this, that it was 
supposed she had taken up her abode at the Macquart 
house. 

The smuggler’s comings and goings were very irregular, 
and no one ever knew just when he was in town. It 
was said that he had got possession of all Adelaide’s 
money, and yet his way of living and his manner of dress 
had in no degree changed or improved. Perhaps Adelaide 
loved him all the better on account of his long absences. 
Perhaps he felt the need of an adventurous life, and re- 
sisted all her entreaties to remain quietly with her. A 
thousand fanciful fables were invented, but no adequate 
explanation of this liaison was offered. The house in 


63 


THE ROU GON-M ACQ U ART FAMILY. 


Saint-Mittre remained hermetically sealed, and kept its 
secret. It was surmised that Maequart beat Adelaide, 
merely because she sometimes appeared with a bruised 
face and disordered hair; but she did not seem unhappy, 
or even sad, nor did she show any desire to hide her 
bruises, but smiled and appeared very happy. This ex- 
istence lasted for fifteen years. 

Adelaide seemed to be utterly without practical common 
sense. The relative value of things, the necessity of order, 
seemed to escape her entirely. She allowed her children 
to grow up like the wild prune trees that one sees along 
the highway, growing up as the wind and the sun choose, 
bearing their natural fruit, ungrafted and untrimmed. 
Never had Nature been so little thwarted, never had chil- 
dren grown up with more liberty, or guided so entirely by 
their instincts. They lived in the open air, and did pretty 
much as they chose. They pillaged the house of all the 
provisions in it; they were like little wild creatures — the 
demons of this strange house. 

When their mother disappeared for days together, the 
uproar became so intolerable that the neighbors threat- 
ened them with a whipping — not that Adelaide ever 
frightened or controlled them; but when she was there, 
they were less unendurable to others, because they took 
her for a victim. She never was angry with them, but 
lived placidly amid the tumult. It may be that the 
noise they made filled the vacancy in her brain. 

Her indifference to her property was as great as that she 
showed toward her children. The Fonque estate during 


THE ROUGON-MACQUAKT FAMILY. 


69 


all these years had become a charming as well as valuable 
spot. Adelaide had confided it to the care of a skilful 
gardener, who, cultivating it at the halves, robbed her 
with impudent boldness, but she suspected nothing of 
this. 

Warned by a secret instinct, or because he saw that 
he was received by people in a very different way 
from that in which his brother and sister were greeted, 
Pierre, the legitimate son, lorded it over the others. In 
all their quarrels, in spite of the fact that he was much 
less strong than Antoine, he always beat him. 

As to Ursule, a poor, frail little creature, she was hit 
by both the others. The three children, in fact, up to the 
age of fifteen or sixteen, exchanged blows without reali- 
zing their vague hatred and without understanding why 
they were, so to speak, strangers. 

At sixteen Antoine was a tall fellow in whom both 
Macquart’s and Adelaide’s faults showed themselves. 
Macquart’s characteristics were dominant — his wandering 
habits, his tendency to intoxication, his brutal tastes. But 
under Adelaide’s nervous influence, these vices, which 
in the father were frankly apparent, were in the son con- 
cealed in a cowardly, treacherous sort of way. Antoine 
was like his mother in his absolute indifference to all but 
his personal comfort. He was indolent to a degree. The 
people about said of him: 

“ What a scamp ! He has not even Macquart’s courage ! 
If he should ever assassinate any one, it would be with 
pin-pricks!” 


70 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


f 


As to physique, Antoine inherited from Adelaide only 
her red lips. His other features were those of the smug- 
gler, softened down. 

In Ursule the mother predominated. This child was 
born when Adelaide’s love had outlived that of Macquart, 
and seemed to have received with her sex a larger propor- 
tion of her mother’s nature. 

Ursule, fantastic and capricious, was at times causelessly 
sad; then, all at once, would burst into a sudden nervous 
laugh. Her eyes were clear as crystal, like those of young 
kittens. By the side of these two children Pierre seemed 
like a stranger, so totally different was he from them. He 
was the juste milieu of his parents — the peasant Rougou 
and the nervous Adelaide. He was only a peasant, but a 
peasant with a less rough skin, with a brighter face and a 
more intelligent mind. His father and his mother were 
both corrected, so to speak, in him — the one by the other. 
Adelaide’s nature, refined by the over-excitement of her 
nerves, had lightened the sanguine dulness of Rougon’s, 
which in its turn prevented the development in the child 
of his mother’s disordered fancies. Pierre knew nothing 
of the transports of passion nor the dreams of Macquart’s 
children, who were badly enough brought up, to be 
sure, but who possessed a fund of sense which would 
prevent them from ever committing any irretrievable 
folly. 

Pierre’s faults were not like Antoine’s, nor did he make 
any attempt to conceal them. In his figure, which was of 
medium height, in his long, pale face, where his father’s 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 71 

features were softened by certain suggestions of Adelaide’s, 
a clever observer could already detect unscrupulous am- 
bition as well as the heartlessness and envy of a peasant’s 
son, whom the fortune and the nerves of his mother had 
elevated to the middle classes. 

When at seventeen Pierre learned and understood the 
life led by his mother, and the position of Antoine and 
Ursule, he was neither saddened nor shocked; he was sim- 
ply absorbed by the decision as to what course it would be 
most to his interest to take. He was the only one of the 
three children who felt any interest in his studies. A 
peasant who begins to feel the necessity of instruction 
often becomes a keen calculator. 

It was at school that his comrades, by their sneers and 
the insulting fashion in which they treated his brother, 
gave him the first suspicions. 

Later, he understood their hints rather than their words. 
He saw the house given over to pillage, and from that 
moment he regarded Antoine and Ursule as shameless 
parasites — as mouths which devoured his means. Of his 
mother he thought much, as did all the neighbors — that 
she ought to be shut up and prevented from wasting her 
money — and the youth was gradually transformed into an 
avaricious fellow — hardened and exasperated by the things 
which went on about him. 

It was to him that the vegetables belonged that his 
mother’s gardener sold to such advantage. The wine that 
was drunk and the bread that was eaten by Ursule and 
Antoine belonged in reality to him. The house and the 


72 


THE ROU GON-M ACQU ART FAMILY. 


income were really his. In his pitiless peasant logic, he, as 
the only legitimate child, was the heir, and as he saw his 
mother’s means slowly melting away, he determined to 
find some way of getting rid of all these people — mother, 
brother, sister, and servants — and of coming himself at 
once to the throne. 

The contest was a bitter one. The young man under- 
stood that he must first strike at his mother. He carried 
into execution a plan whose every detail he had carefully 
ripened. 

His tactics were to be to Adelaide a living reproach — 
not that he ever became angry, or addressed to her any 
words of bitterness in regard to her conduct — but he had 
a certain way of looking at her silently, which terrified 
her out of her senses. When she came in, after having 
been at Macquart’s, she could not look at her son without 
a shiver. She felt his eyes, cold and keen as steel, piercing 
her through and through. 

This severe, reproachful silence on the part of Pierre — 
the child of the husband whom she had so soon for- 
gotten — strangely troubled her poor, sick brain. She felt 
as if Rougon himself had come to life again. Each week 
now she suffered from one of those nervous attacks which 
had so long troubled her, and each one left her with less 
strength. She wept and sobbed half the night, sometimes 
accepting Pierre’s conduct as the blows of an avenging 
God ; at other times she rebelled, and could hardly bring 
herself to believe that this stolid fellow, whose calmness 
added to her fever, could be her child. She would ten 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


73 


thousand times rather have been beaten than looked at in 
this way. 

Those pitiless eyes affected her finally to such a degree^ 
that she absolutely came to the decision never to see her 
lover again, but as soon as Macquart arrived she forgot 
this determination, and rushed to see him, and again did 
the silent and terrible contest begin on her return. At 
the end of some months she belonged to her son. When 
with him she was like a little girl who is not quite sure 
that she has been good, and who feels that she is to be 
whipped. 

Pierre, without opening his lips, had tied her, feet and 
hands. There had been no difficult nor compromising 
explanations. 

When Pougon felt that his mother was his slave, he 
began to turn to his own interest all her peculiarities, as 
well as the mad terror with which a mere glance from him 
thrilled her. 

His first care was to dismiss the gardener and replace 
him by a creature of his own. He assumed the entire 
control of the house, selling and buying, and holding the 
purse-strings. He made no attempt to control his mother, 
or to correct Antoine and Ursule’s indolent habits, for he 
intended to rid himself of them all shortly. 

Circumstances served him wonderfully. He escaped 
conscription as the eldest son of a widow, and two months 
later Antoine was drawn. This did not disturb the youth, 
however, as he supposed his mother would, of course, buy 
him off. Adelaide would, in fact, have done so, but Pierre 


74 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

opposed it, as this forced departure of his brother’s suited 
his plans only too well. 

When his mother therefore murmured a word or two of 
entreaty, he looked at her in such a way that her lips were 
sealed. She abandoned Antoine in the most cowardly 
manner, feeling that she must pay that price for peace and 
liberty. 

Pierre, therefore, rejoiced at being able to put his 
brother out of doors without a quarrel, applied himself at 
once to playing the part of a man at his wit’s ends for 
money. The year had been bad, he said ; he should be 
compelled to sell some land to buy a substitute, which 
would be the beginning of ruin. He gave a promise to 
Antoine however, that he would buy him off the next 
year; and Antoine departed — deceived and half pleased. 
Pierre got rid of Ursule in a fashion equally unexpected. 
A hatter in the Faubourg, named Mouret, fell in love with 
the girl, whom he admired for her frail delicacy, and mar- 
ried her for love. Ursule accepted him merely to escape 
from a house which she w r as beginning to find intolerable. 
Her mother was perfectly indifferent ; or if she felt any- 
thing, it was pleasure, that Pierre would now have no 
reason for discontent, but would let her live in peace. 

As soon as the young people were married, Mouret saw 
that he must leave Plassans, if he wished to avoid hearing 
disagreeable remarks made on his wife and his wife’s 
mother. He took Ursule to Marseilles, where he estab- 
lished himself in business. He received no dowry with 
Ursule; and when Pierre — surprised at his disinterest- 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


75 


edness — made some vague explanation, he closed his lips 
by saying that he preferred to support his wife himself. 
Rougon was somewhat disturbed by this peculiar conduct, 
which it seemed to him must conceal some snare. Adelaide 
still remained ; Pierre had no intention of living with her. 
She compromised him, but he hardly knew what to do 
with her. To keep her with him was like tying a cannon- 
ball to his feet, which would prevent him from soaring to 
the ambitious heights of which he dreamed. To drive her 
away was to stigmatize himself as a bad son, which was 
anything but the reputation he desired. There was, there- 
fore, but one course open for him, and that was to induce 
Adelaide to go of herself. To this end Pierre now turned 
all his energies. He held himself to be excused for 
all his harshness by his mother’s conduct. He punished 
her as one punishes a child ; and under this lifted rod 
the poor woman bowed her head. She was only forty- 
two, and yet she had the appearance and manner of 
second childhood. Her son eyed her with silent con- 
tempt, hoping that the day would come when she would 
flee. 

The poor creature suffered horribly, and there were 
nights when she would have thrown herself into the Yiorne: 
if her feeble flesh had not shrunk in chill horror from 
death. 

She thought of flight, and dreamed of joining her lover 
on the frontier ; but she was kept under her own roof, and 
endured her son’s brutality, merely because she did not 
know where and how to go. Pierre realized this after a 


76 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

time, and had decided to hire a small apartment for her, 
when an accident, upon which he had not dared to count, 
hastened the realization of his wishes. The intelligence 
arrived that Macquart had been killed on the frontier by 
a custom-house officer, just as he was coming into France 
with a cargo of watches from Geneva. 

The tale was true. The body of the smuggler was not 
brought back to Plassans, but was interred in the Cemetery 
of a small village among the hills. Adelaide was stupefied 
by grief. Her son, who watched her curiously, did not see 
her shed a tear. Macquart had made a will and left all 
he had to her. She inherited the house in Saint-Mittre 
and the dead man’s musket, which was brought to her by 
one of the smuggler’s companions. The very next day 
she retired to the little house; she hung the gun over the 
chimney, and lived there in silence and solitude. At last 
Pierre Rougon was master. The Fonque estate belonged 
to him in reality, if not legally. He did not think, how- 
ever, of establishing himself there. The field was too 
circumscribed for his ambition. He had no idea of spend- 
ing his life watching vegetables grow. He wished to be 
something more than a peasant, and he longed for some 
of the enjoyments of life. He had planned out his future. 
He wished to sell his property: the amount he received 
would permit him to marry the daughter of some mer- 
chant, who would receive him as a partner. 

The wars of the Empire had so thinned the ranks of 
marriageable young men, that parents were less difficult 
to please than they had been, and Pierre meant to pose as 


THE ROUG ON-M ACQU ART FAMILY. 77 

a victim — as a good fellow — who suffers from the faults 
and vices of his family, deploring them without excusing 
them. 

For several months he had had his eyes on an oil mer- 
chant’s daughter, Felicite Puech. The firm Puech and Le- 
camp was not regarded as especially prosperous, and there 
were even rumors that it was on the brink of failure. 

These sinister reports were precisely why Rougon turned 
his attention in this direction. No prosperous merchant 
would have given him his daughter. Pierre meant to 
appear before old Puech, when his affairs were at the 
lowest ebb, buy Felicity, and bring the house up by his 
intelligence and energy. This was a skilful way of climb- 
ing the social ladder. He was especially anxious to 
escape from the Faubourg where his family had resided, 
and to make others as well as herself forget the degrada- 
tion of his history. 

The darkest, dirtiest streets in the old Quartier seemed 
to him an absolute Paradise. 

The auspicious moment was near at hand. The Puech 
and Lecamp firm was at the last gasp. The young man 
arranged his marriage with great skill and prudence. Pie 
was welcomed, if not as a Saviour, at least as an accept- 
able expedient. 

Then came the question of selling his property. The 
owner of Jas-Meiffren, desiring to add to his estate, had 
already made him several offers. A low wall alone sepa- 
rated the two properties. Pierre speculated on his neigh- 
bor’s wishes, who, being a rich man, could afford to gratify 
5 


78 


THE liOUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


a caprice, and purchase the land for fifteen thousand francs, 
which was twice its value. 

Pierre, with peasant cunning, shook his head at this 
offer, declaring that he did not care to sell ; that his 
mother would never consent to part with a piece of property 
where her ancestors had lived for nearly two centuries. 

The fact was that in his heart Pierre was a little uneasy. 
According to his own brutal logic the land was his, and 
his was the right to dispose of it, and yet he had a vague 
fear of the law. He determined to consult an attorney, 
who informed him, to his great disgust, that he was ab- 
solutely powerless : his mother alone had the right to sell 
this property. He had feared this, but he had not feared 
that which he now learned, that Ursule and Antoine, his 
mother’s illegitimate children, had also their rights in this 
property. Could this be possible ? Could these creatures 
rob him — him, the child born in lawful wedlock? 

The attorney’s explanations were clear and precise. 
Adelaide had, it is true, married Rougon under the 
“regime of communion,” but all the property consisting 
of real estate, the young woman, according to law, had 
come into its possession on the death of her husband. 
On the other side, Macquart and Adelaide had recognized 
their children, who consequently could inherit from their 
mother. As his only consolation, Pierre learned that the 
law reduced the share of the illegitimate children in favor 
of the legitimate. This was small consolation, since he 
was absolutely unwilling to share one sou with Ursule and 
Antoine. 


THE EOUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 79 

These developments in regard to the law opened new 
horizons to the young man, who saw at once that a skilful 
man should always have the law on his own side. 

Without consulting any one, not even the lawyer, he 
induced his mother to go with him one morning to a notary, 
and there place her signature to a document. Adelaide 
would have signed anything and everything, provided 
she was left undisturbed in her nest at Saint-Mittre. 
Pierre promised her an annuity of six hundred francs, 
and swore that he would look out for both brother and 
sister. 

The poor woman was satisfied, and recited to the notary 
the lesson her son had taught her. The next day the 
young man made her sign a receipt in which she ad- 
mitted having received fifty thousand francs in payment 
for the land. This was a master-stroke on Pierre’s part. 
He told his mother, who was astonished at having to sign 
such a receipt, when she had not seen a sou of these fifty 
thousand francs, that her signature was a mere formality, 
and the matter not of the slightest importance. 

As he slipped this paper in his pocket, he said to him- 
self, with a grim smile : . 

“Now let these whelps ask for their share. I will 
show them this receipt and tell them that the old woman 
has wasted the money. They will never dare to go to 
law about it ! ” 

Eight days later the dividing wall was gone; the plough 
had gone over the vegetable garden, and the Fonque 
property, according to young Rougon’s desire, had become 


80 THE EOUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

a thing of the past, and a few months later the new 
owner, the proprietor of Jas-Meiffren, pulled down the 
old house. 

When Pierre had his fifty thousand francs in his hands, 
he married Felicity Puech with as little delay as possible. 

F6licit£ was a small, dark woman, such as we see so 
often in Provence, reminding one of those grasshoppers, 
dry, brown, and noisy, which are found among the almond 
trees. Thin, hollow-chested, with pointed shoulders, and 
sharp features, it was difficult to decide on her age. She 
might have been fifteen or thirty, but she was in reality 
just nineteen, four years younger than her husband. 
There was a cat-like cunning in her black eyes, which 
were narrow and sharp as gimlets. Her low, rounded 
forehead — her nose, slightly flattened at the extremity, 
with dilated nostrils, her lips like a scarlet thread, her 
chin prominent, and her cheek-bones high, gave all the 
features the look of a cunning dwarf, and veiled the most 
intolerant ambition, and capabilities for intrigue. 

In spite of her positive ugliness, F6licit6 had a grace of her 
own, a peculiar fascination. It was said of her that she was 
plain or pretty at will. This was due, perhaps, to the 
manner in which she dressed her hair, which was superb, 
but still more, to the triumphant smile which illuminated 
her whole dusky face, when she believed herself to have 
got the better of some one. She considered herself to have 
been especially ill-treated by Fate — and submitted by fits 
and starts to be considered insignificant and plain — but 
would soon arouse herself from this temporary defeat and 


THE EOUGON-MACQUAET FAMILY. 


81 


vow that the day should come when the whole town should 
die with envy of her happiness and luxury. And had she 
been able to act out her life on a broader stage, where her 
mind could have developed, she would unquestionably 
have promptly realized this dream. 

She was far superior in intelligence to the girls of her 
own class, whose advantages had been the same as her 
own. 

Gossips said that her mother, who died only a few years 
after her birth, had been too intimate with the Marquis 
de Camavant — a young nobleman in the Quartier Saint- 
Marc. The truth was that F6licit6 had the hands and feet 
of a Marquise, which seemed in no way to belong to the 
race of plebeians from which she descended. 

The whole Quartier was astonished for at least a month 
at her marriage to Pierre Rougon — this almost peasant 
— this man whose family was certainly not in the odor of 
sanctity ! Felicity let them talk, and received with an odd 
sort of smile the constrained congratulations of her friends. 
Her plans were all made. She chose Rougon as an accom- 
plice rather than as a husband. Pier father accepted the 
young man because he saw no other way of obtaining 
money which might save him from failure. The daughter, 
however, had better eyes, and looked far into the future, 
feeling that the day was not far off when she should need 
the support of a strong man, even if he were a little of a 
boor, behind whom she could hide, and whose arms and 
legs she could employ as she pleased. She hated all the 
petty officials whom she encountered — notaries’ clerks, 


82 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


students-at-law, and the like. Without a dowry there was 
no prospect of her marrying the son of a rich merchant, 
and she therefore preferred a peasant whom she could em- 
ploy as a passive instrument to some person who would 
crush her from his lofty heights of learning. She thought 
that a wife could make her husband what she would — and 
she felt that she had the ability to make a minister out of 
a cowherd. She found a certain attraction in Rougon’s 
square shoulders, which she thought could carry the world 
of intrigues she intended to place upon them. She 
appreciated the strength and the health of her husband, 
and also divined the acuteness of his intellect, but was still 
far from comprehending its full extent. 

A few days after her marriage she discovered in his 
secretary the receipt for fifty thousand francs, signed by 
Adelaide. She understood it at once and was terrified, but 
in her terror there was no small admiration, and her re- 
spect for Rougon at once increased. The new establish- 
ment went boldly to work to conquer Fortune. The firm 
was less involved than had been feared. It was only 
ready money that was lacking. In the country, trade is 
managed with certain prudence which often prevents great 
disasters. Puech and Lecamp were very wise and cautious. 
The amount of their debts, consequently, was compara- 
tively small, and the fifty thousand francs brought by 
Pierre were sufficient to pay off the most pressing obliga- 
tions and start them fairly once more. 

They were prosperous from the beginning. The olive 
harvest for three consecutive years had been abundant. 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


83 


Felicit6 had the boldness to induce the firm to buy a quan- 
tity of oil and store it. In two years after this, just as the 
young woman had prophesied, the harvest failed and the 
firm made a large profit. Puecli and Lecamp soon after 
this retired, and Pierre Rougon carried on the business 
alone, and believed himself to be on the highway to 
fortune. 

“You have done away with my ill-luck/’ said Felicity 
to her husband. 

One of the rare weaknesses of this energetic nature was 
to think herself a victim to Fate. She declared that up 
to this time nothing had ever succeeded with her father or 
herself. With her Southern superstition she fought against 
Destiny as one fights against an enemy in the flesh, who 
wishes to strangle you. 

Facts justified her apprehensions. The ill-luck returned. 
Each year a new disaster shook the Rougon house. 
Through a bankrupt debtor thousands were lost. All 
their calculations made on the olive crop were rendered 
futile by the most unexpected circumstances. The most 
promising speculations turned out badly. The whole look- 
out was most discouraging. 

“ You see that I was right,” said Felicity, bitterly. “ I 
was certainly born under a bad star.” 

And she was desperate at the idea that she, who had 
been clever enough to scent out this first brilliant specu- 
lation, could now give her husband no good advice or 
suggestions. 

Pierre, less obstinate than his wife, would have lain 


84 THE ROtJGON-MACQTJART FAMILY. 

down discouraged but for her. She was determined to be 
rich. She understood that her ambition could have no 
other foundation than money. Were they to be wealthy 
they would rule the town, her husband would fill some 
important position, and she would govern him. All she 
wanted to carry out her plan was the entering wedge, a 
few thousand crowns to start with. She felt herself 
capable of managing men and gaining honors, but she 
felt a bitter sort of rage in the face of this cold silver and 
gold which her clever, intriguing mind could not com- 
mand, and which she could not obtain. 

For thirty long years did this battle last, and when 
Puech died there was another blow, for F6licit6, who had 
anticipated some fourteen thousand francs at least, discov- 
ered that her father had sunk his fortune in an annuity. 
This made her ill. She grew thinner and darker, and 
fluttered about all day long among the jars of oil like 
a restless fly. Her husband, on the contrary, thrived on 
his ill-luck, and grew stouter and more indolent. These 
thirty years of struggle did not lead them to ruin : on the 
contrary they made both ends meet each year: if they lost 
in one six months they repaired this loss in the next 
season. It was this that exasperated Felicity who would 
have preferred a good stout failure. 

The early years of their married life brought them 
many children. In five years she had three sons, and in 
the succeeding four years two daughters, who, as they had 
no dowry, were far from welcome. 

Before Felicite’s sons were ten years old, their mother 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


85 


had mapped out their future. They should gratify her 
ambition — they would give her that position and that 
fortune which she had so long vainly pursued. 

It seemed to her impossible if her three sons should 
live to grow up, that there should not be one of them 
superior enough to enrich the whole. She felt this and 
said it. She guarded the children with the tender care 
of a mother, and with the watchful solicitude of a money- 
lender, who guards his capital and sees it grow. 

“ Be careful ! ” cried Pierre. “ Children are ungrateful. 
You will spoil them, and ruin us.” 

When Felicity spoke of sending the boys to college he 
lost his temper. Latin was a foolish luxury, and they 
could go to the little day-school round the corner. But 
the mother carried her point. She was sufficiently culti- 
vated herself to recognize the importance of cultivation, 
and knew that her sons could never be superior men if 
they were as illiterate as their father. When Felicite 
heard her boys conjugate a Latin verb, and speak famil- 
iarly to the sons of the Mayor and the Prefect, she was 
tljrilled with joy and pride. 

The maintenance of these three boys at college was a 
heavy tax for several years ; and when they had received 
their diplomas, Felicite induced her husband to send them 
all to Paris. Two studied law; the third, medicine; and 
now began the disappointment of the poor parents, who 
were at the end of their resources, for the three young men 
in no way gratified the ambition of Rougon and his wife. 

One day, when Felicity spoke with some bitterness to 


86 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


her eldest son of the enormous sums expended on his 
education, he replied, sharply : 

“ I will pay it all back to you some day, I hope. But, 
as you had no fortune, it strikes me that it would have 
been better to have made something else of us than 
lawyers and doctors. We are really greatly to be pitied, 
inasmuch as we suffer more than you, for we belong to no 
class whatever.” 

Felicite understood the deep meaning of these words, 
ceased to reproach her children, and turned her anger 
against Fate. When Rougon said to her, “Your sons are 
lazy fellows ! ” she would reply : “ I trust that I may yet 
have money to leave them. If they vegetate, it is because 
they are penniless ! ” 

In 1848, on the eve of the Revolution of February, the 
three Rougon sons were in Plassans. They were singu- 
larly dissimilar, although born of the same parents. 

The Rougon race had been purified by its women. 
Adelaide had made of Pierre something more than an 
ordinary nature with certain low ambitions. Felicity 
had given to her sons a broader intelligence, and characters 
capable of great vices and great virtues. 

At this time, the elder, Eugene, was more than forty, 
slightly bald, and growing stout. He had his father’s 
face — long, with large features. If there was something 
of the peasant in the square and massive head, the look 
vanished and the face was transfigured when the heavy 
eyelids were lifted. 

Through one of those caprices of nature, wherein science 


THE KOUGON-MACQUAKT FAMILY. 


87 


now begins to distinguish laws, Eugene’s menial resem- 
blance to his mother was quite as remarkable as his 
physical likeness to his father. He had strong ambition, 
instincts of command, and a singular contempt for narrow 
fortunes and economical ways. He was the living proof 
that Plassans had not erred when it gave to Felicity a 
little noble blood in her veins. 

The love of pleasure, which was a characteristic with 
the Rougons, assumed in him a more elevated form : 
pleasure to him meant simply a thirst for domination. 
Such a man was not likely to succeed in the provfnces. 
He lived there fifteen years, with his eyes and thoughts 
turned toward Paris, waiting and watching. On his 
return to the village, in order not to be dependent on his 
parents, he had inscribed his name as a lawyer. He 
appeared in court sometimes, and managed to earn his 
bread without in any way rising above honest mediocrity. 
At Plassans his voice was considered a drawl ; his gestures 
heavy. It was rarely that he won a cause for a client. 
He had a way, people said, of wandering from a subject. 
One day, it was asserted, he so far forgot himself, that he, 
in a question of damages, offered some political opinions, 
and was cut short by the judge. He sat down at once, 
with his singular smile. His client was condemned to 
pay a considerable sum in consequence of this digression. 
Eugene, in fact, seemed to consider these pleadings as mere 
practice which would serve him later. 

This his mother could not understand. 

She wished to see her son take a high position at the 


88 


THE EOTJGON--MACQITART FAMILY. 


Plassans bar, and finally formed rather a low estimate of 
the abilities of her eldest son, who, in her opinion, was not 
the one who was to make the fortune of the family. Pierre, 
on the contrary, had the most entire confidence in Eugene; 
not that his eyes were more penetrating than those of his 
wife, but because his personal vanity was gratified by be- 
lieving in the genius and capability of a son who was so 
marvellously like himself in appearance. A little before 
those stormy February days Eugene grew very restless. 
The very stones of Plassans burned his feet; he wandered 
about like a perturbed spirit, and finally started off for 
Paris with less than five hundred francs in his pocket. 

Aristide, the youngest of the Rougon sons, was as op- 
posite to Eugene as the North Pole is opposite to the 
South. He had his mother’s face and a certain amount of 
cunning, with an aptitude for vulgar intrigues, when his 
father’s nature appeared. Small and insignificant in ap- 
pearance, Aristide was always prying in every direction, 
eager for information and amusement. He loved money 
as his elder brother loved power. While Eugene dreamed 
of bending a nation to his will, Aristide saw himself a 
millionnaire, lodged in a princely palace — eating and drink- 
ing of the best — enjoying life with every sense and every 
organ of his body. 

The Rougon race — the grasping peasant stock with the 
appetites of a brute — had ripened too fast in Aristide, who 
in spite of his delicate feminine instincts was his mother’s 
favorite. She made every excuse for the follies and indo- 
lence of her youngest son, saying that he was the clever 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 89 

man of the family, and that such men had the right to 
live irregular lives until the day when their abilities make 
themselves known and felt. Aristide put her indulgence 
to the test. At Paris his life was simply disgraceful ; he 
was one of those students who make themselves conspicu- 
ous in the beer gardens of the Quartier Latin. He was 
there only two years, for, as he did not pass a single ex- 
amination, his father ordered him home, and talked of 
finding a wife for him, in the hope that he would settle 
down calmly. Life in the country did not displease 
Aristide, nor did the idea of matrimony. His father con- 
sented to the newly married pair living at home, on the 
condition that the young man should be active in the 
business. From this moment Aristide lived much in 
accordance with his tastes, spending half the nights at 
the club, and most of his days gambling with a few gold 
pieces which his mother gave him in secret. One must 
have lived in just such a country place to understand the 
stultifying life led by this young man for four years. In 
every small town a number of individuals are to be found 
living on their parents in just this way — pretending to 
work, but in reality utterly indolent and helpless. 

Aristide was the type of these incorrigible loungers 
whom one sees living the vacant life of these country 
towns. For four years he played dearth. While he lived 
at the club, his wife — a gentle, dull blonde — assisted in the 
ruin of the Rougon family by a most extravagant taste for 
startling toilettes, and by a most formidable appetite, which 
was especially remarkable in so frail a looking creature. 


90 


THE ROU GON-M ACQU ART FAMILY. 


Ansrele adored blue ribbons and roast beef. She was 

o 

the daughter of a retired Captain who went by the name 
of Commandant Sieardot, and who had given to his child 
all his savings — a dowry of ten thousand francs. This 
dowry was like a paving stone round the neck of poor 
Pierre Pougon, for his son handed it over to him, saying: 
“ We need nothing. You support us, my wife and me, and 
we will settle up later.” 

Pierre agreed to this, though he was a little disturbed 
by his son’s apparent disinterestedness. Aristide was a 
clever rascal, and said to himself, that it would be a long 
time before his father would have ten thousand francs to 
hand over to him, and that during all that time they could 
continue to live at the expense of his parents. It was 
really a splendid investment for his money. When it was 
too late the oil merchant saw the mistake he had made, 
but he could not rid himself of Aristide, for Angele’s 
dowry had been lost in speculations which turned out 
badly. 

He was compelled to keep his son and his son’s wife 
under his roof, although disgusted and horrified at the 
indolence of the one and the appetite of the other. 

Twenty times he would have put out of the door the 
vermin that sucked his blood, to use his own energetic 
expression. F6licit<3 interfered, however. The young 
man, who had penetrated her ambitious dreams, had each 
evening a new plan of making his fortune to lay before 
her. By an accident, which is certainly far from common, 
she was on the best of terms with her daughter-in-law. 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 91 

We must here take occasion to say that Angele was abso- 
lutely without a will of her own. 

Pierre lost his temper when his wife spoke of the future 
success of their youngest son, and declared he was far 
more likely to be their ruin. He Went into daily rages 
during the four years that his son lived with him, but 

never once did Aristide and Angele lose their smiling 

O O 

calm. 

Finally one day Pierre had a stroke of luck. He was 
able to return the ten thousand francs to his son. When 
he wished to settle their accounts Aristide had so many 
objections to make and so many arguments, that his father 
allowed them to depart without keeping a sou to cover the 
expenses of their food and lodging. 

The young people established themselves not far off on 
a little square — Place Saint Louis. The ten thousand 
francs quickly disappeared. But Aristide in no way 
changed his mode of life so long as there was money in the 
house; but when he had reached his last hundred franc- 
note, he became nervous. He wandered about the town 
with a careworn look. He took nothing at the club. 
He looked on at the card-tables, but did not play himself. 
He had one child in 1840, named Maxime, whom his 
mother sent to school, which was one mouth less at Aris- 
tide’s ; but poor Angele was dying of hunger, and it was 
necessary for her husband to find a place of some kind. In 
this search, he at last succeeded, and kept it for ten years 
with a salary of eighteen hundred francs, which seemed 
to him an irony of fortune. His mother was not sorry to 


92 THE ROUGON-M ACQU ART FAMILY. 

see him kick against the pricks, for she hoped that his 
ambition might prove too strong for his indolence. 

Aristide was always on the watch for some freak of for- 
tune, and when his brother, in 1848, left for Paris, he was 
sorely tempted to follow him, but it was not so easy to 
carry his wife. To do this required a large sum of ready 
money. Eugene was unmarried : it was easy for him to 
make a change. Aristide therefore waited in momentary 
expectation of some catastrophe, of which he could take 
advantage. 

Pascal, the other Rougon son, was like no other mem- 
ber of the family. It was one of those frequent cases 
which disturb the laws of hereditary resemblance. Noth- 
ing in the physique or character of Pascal recalled the 
Rougons. Tall, with a calm, severe face, he had an hon- 
esty of purpose, a passionate love of study, and an exces- 
sive modesty which contrasted strangely with the ambi- 
tious fever and the somewhat unscrupulous notions of his 
family. After having finished his medical studies with 
credit to himself, he returned to Plassans because he liked 
the place, and preferred the calm and quiet life of the 
country. He made no effort to obtain a large practice, 
but contented himself with those persons who came to him 
by chance. All his luxury consisted in the fresh, pretty 
house in which he shut himself up, and busied himself 
with his studies in Natural History. He had an especial 
passion for Physiology. It was known to the town that 
he bought subjects for dissection from the Hospital, and 
for this reason was looked upon with horror by certain 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


93 


delicate ladies, and cowardly bourgeois, who did not go so 
far as to treat him as a sorcerer, but who called him “ an 
original,” with the air of meaning much more than they 
said. 

The Mayor’s wife was heard to say one day : “ I should 
rather die than call in that man. He smells of death!” 

Pascal was quite undisturbed by this foolish fear with 
which he inspired these people. The fewer patients he 
had, the more time would be his to occupy himself with 
his dear sciences. But as he had placed his prices at a low 
figure the common people were faithful to him. He made 
just enough to live on, and lived happily amid his books 
and studies, and occasionally sent a paper to the Academy 
of Sciences. 

Plassans did not know that 11 this original,” — this man 
who smelled of death — was well known and highly re- 
spected in the scientific world. When he was seen starting 
forth on an excursion among the hills, with a botany box 
hung at his neck, and a geologist’s hammer in his hand, 
they shrugged their shoulders and compared him to 
another doctor of the town, always so well dressed, who was 
such a favorite of the ladies, and who always had about 
him such a delicious odor of violets. 

Nor was Pascal understood by his parents. His mother 
overwhelmed him with reproaches, when she saw the 
strange life he led. She, who endured with equanimity 
the indolence of Aristide, could not behold without anger, 
Pascal’s calm contentment, his humility, and his contempt 
for riches. 

6 


94 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

“No one would ever suppose you belonged to us,” 
she would say, impatiently. “Look at your brothers: 
they try to make a figure in the world, and so recompense 
us for the sacrifices we have made. But you are abso- 
lutely simple.” 

Pascal, who preferred to laugh rather than lose his 
temper, answered, with fine irony, 

“You need not complain. I will not make you abso- 
lutely bankrupt. I will take care of you all for nothing 
when you are ill.” 

He lived entirely apart from his family — not from any 
repugnance to them, but because he was absorbed in his 
studies. For several years he had occupied himself 
with the great problem of hereditary transmission, com- 
paring the animal kingdom with the human race; and he 
was intensely interested in the curious results that he 
obtained. The observations he made on himself and his 
family were his starting-point of these studies. 

The people understood, with their wonderful intui- 
tion, that he differed from the Rougons, and called him 
always “ Dr. Pascal ” without adding the surname. 

About three years before the Revolution of 1848, 
Pierre and F6licit6 gave up their business. They were 
both over fifty, and weary of the contest. They were so 
imbued with a sense of their ill-luck that they thought it 
safer to retire while they had a few francs. Their sons 
had been a great disappointment to them, and they had 
lost all hope of being enriched by them, and were anxious 
to secure a loaf of bread for their old age. 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 95 

They retired with forty thousand francs, the income of 
which allowed them to live the economical life of the 
provinces. Fortunately there were only themselves, as 
Marthe and Sidonie were married, one living at Mar- 
seilles, the other in Paris. 

They would have liked to reside in the New Quartier 
among the retired merchants, but as they did not dare to 
attempt this with their restricted means, as a sort of 
compromise they hired rooms in La Rue de la Baune, the 
street which separates the New Quartier from the old ; 
they were thus on the threshold of the promised land. 

Their lodgings were on the second story and consisted 
of three large rooms — dining-room, bed-room and salon. 
On the first floor lived the proprietor, a cane and umbrella 
maker, whose shop was in the Rez de Chaussee. The house 
was narrow and deep and had only two stories. When 
F6licit6 moved, it was with a heavy heart. To live with 
others in provincial towns is an avowal of poverty. Each 
well-to-do family in Plassans has its own house and fur- 
niture. Pierre held the purse-strings tightly and would 
not hear of any embellishments. The old furniture, worn 
and faded, must do duty in their new quarters without 
even being repaired. F6licit6 toiled hard to give a brighter 
aspect to these goods and chattels, and rubbed and varnished 
the tables and chairs until they shone. 

The dining-room, which was back of all the others, re- 
mained nearly empty — a table and a dozen chairs were 
literally lost in the large room whose window opened on 
the gray wall of a house in the rear. As no stranger ever 


96 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


entered the bed-room, Felicity gathered together there all 
the wrecks which she could not make up her mind to ut- 
terly discard — a wardrobe, two cradles, a buffet with only 
one door, and a bookcase which was totally empty. 

She lavished all her cares on the salon, of which she 
succeeded in making quite a habitable spot. The furni- 
ture was yellow velvet with satin flowers ; a table stood in 
the centre and at either end a console with mirrors. There 
was even a square of carpet, and a chandelier covered with 
a netting. On the walls were six lithographs, representing 
Napoleon's great battles. All these ornaments dated from 
the first days of the Empire. By dint of much coaxing 
Felicity had obtained a paper for her walls — orange, with 
huge branches. Thus the salon had a strange, tawny 
light, suggestive of the sunlight; everything was yellow: 
furniture, paper, curtains, and even the marbles of the 
gu^ridon and console. When the curtains were drawn the 
tints were really soft and harmonious. But Felicity had quite 
other dreams of luxury. She contemplated with a feeling 
of utter despair this poorly concealed poverty. Her one 
amusement in which she found both pain and pleasure, was 
to station herself at one of the windows of this room look- 
ing out on La Rue de la Baune and across to La Place de 
la Sous-Prefecture. That was the Paradise of which she 
had dreamed. The houses so carefully kept, so neat and 
fresh, seemed to her an Eden. She would have given ten 
years of her life to possess one of these dwellings. One 
house in particular filled her with envy. She watched it 
with curiosity and longing. Sometimes when the windows 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


97 


were open, she caught a glimpse of red furniture which 
stirred her blood with their suggestions of luxury. 

At this time the Rougons were passing through a curious 
crisis in their lives. They regarded themselves as victims 
of Fate, but they made no profession of being resigned to 
this, but on the contrary, declared they had not given up 
the hope of dying wealthy, nevertheless each day of pov- 
erty weighed more and more heavily upon them. They 
shivered as they recounted to each other their thirty years 
of useless struggles, and their disappointment in their 
children. They were filled with rage as they looked 
around this yellow salon whose curtains must be drawn 
to hide its ugliness. 

Then, to console themselves, they made all sorts of plans 
for the acquisition of a colossal fortune. F6licit6 dreamed 
that she had won in a lottery the grand prize of 100,000 
francs ; Pierre imagined that he had achieved some mar- 
vellous invention. 

They had but one idea, to make a fortune — to be rich 
and to enjoy their riches, if it were only for a year, and 
continued with that selfishness peculiar to parents who can- 
not become accustomed to the idea of having educated their 
children without deriving some personal advantage, to 
look forward vaguely to being enriched through their sons. 

Felicity showed no mark of age ; she was the same little 
dark woman, as restless and active as a grasshopper. A 
stranger seeing her walking in front of him would have 
taken her for a girl of sixteen, from her slender figure and 
active step. Her face had, to be sure, a few more wrinkles 


98 THE ROTJGON-M ACQU A RT FAMILY. 

— it was like that of a child gradually hardening into 
parchment. 

Pierre Rougon had grown stout. His pasty pale face 
and pompous air indicated wealth. He heard some one 
say one day in reply to a question : 

“No, I do not know his name, but he is some rich fel- 
low who has no need to worry as to where his dinner is 
coming from ! ” 

These words went to his heart, for to remain poor and 
look like a millionnaire struck him as a bitter mockery. 
When he shaved himself on Sunday before a tiny mirror 
that cost five sous, he thought himself far more dignified 
in appearance than the mayor, or in fact than any of the 
officials of Plassans. 

This peasant’s son, pale with the cares of commerce, stout 
from his sedentary life, hiding his malevolent passions 
under the natural placidity of his countenance, had in fact 
an air of solemnity befitting a man who had passed his 
life in official salons. 

It was said that his wife led him by the nose, but this 
was not so; he was brutally obstinate, and by no means 
easily managed. Felicity was shrewd enough — when she 
wished to gain anything from her husband — or to induce 
him to take the path she believed to be the best, to 
flutter about him, attack him on all sides with pin-pricks, 
and keep up the assault until he yielded almost without 
perceiving it. He felt that she was keener than himself, 
and therefore submitted to her advice; husband and 
wife never disagreed except on the old question of the 
education of their children. 


THE KOUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


99 


The Revolution of 1848 found all the Rougon family on 
the qui vive, exasperated by their incessant bad luck, and 
disposed to grasp at Fortune with rough hands should 
they ever encounter it. 

They were like a family of banditti, ready for anything. 
Eugene watched Paris; Aristide dreamed of pillaging 
Plassans, while the father and mother waited in hopes of 
profiting by their sons’ success. 

Pascal was the only one indifferent to the outer world. 
He spent his life in quiet seclusion in his pretty little 
house in the new part of the city. 


100 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


CHAPTER III. 

PLASSANS AND POLITICS. 

T Plassans — a town in which the division of classes 



was very clearly defined in 1848, the effect of po- 
litical events was very strongly marked. The voice of the 
people is, to-day, well-nigh stifled. The middle classes 
are prudent, the nobility despondent, and the clergy cun- 
ning. Kings may ascend a throne, or Republics may be 
founded, and Plassans sleeps while Paris fights. 

The surface may be smooth, but below a turmoil is 
going on, curious enough to study. The streets are calm 
enough, but an intriguing spirit pervades the salons of 
the Quartier Saint-Marc. 

Until 1850 the people were of no account. The clergy, 
the bourgeoisie and the nobility were all. The priests gave 
the tone to the politics of the place — they were like sub- 
terranean mines, underlying the whole upper strata, and 
their timid tactics did not permit a step to be taken, either 
forward or back, in ten years. These secret struggles of 
men who wish, above all things, to avoid any noise, demand 
a peculiar finesse, an aptitude in trifles, and incalculable 
patience. And thus it is that the provincial slowness at 
which Parisians laugh, is really made up of treacheries — 
of defeats and hidden victories. These men, when their 
interests demand it, bring down their victims within the 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 101 

houses by successive blows, as Parisians kill theirs in the 
public squares by salvos of artillery. 

The political history of Plassans, as well as that of all 
the small towns of Provence, offers one curious peculiarity. 
Until 1850 the inhabitants were Catholics and Royalists. 
The people swore by God and by His legitimate kings. 
Then a strange change took place. All religious faith 
disappeared, and the people, deserting the cause of Legiti- 
macy, gave themselves by degrees to the great Democratic 
movement of the day. 

When the Revolution of 1848 burst out, the Nobility 
and the Clergy stood alone in their work of aiding the 
triumph of Henri V. They had long regarded the acces- 
sion of the Orleans as a ridiculous experiment, which 
would eventually restore the Bourbons. Their hopes 
were disappointed but they did not give up the contest, 
although much scandalized at the defection of the faithful. 
The Quartier Saint-Marc was all astir. Among the 
Bourgeoisie and the people the enthusiasm was great. 
The new Republicans were in haste to display their Revo- 
lutionary fever. But among the residents of the new 
part of the town this beautiful fire had the brilliancy and 
the duration of a fire of straw. The retired merchants 
and petty shop-keepers, who had slept comfortably with 
the assurance that their fortunes were quietly growing 
under the monarchy, were soon seized with a panic. The 
Republic with its chances made them tremble for their 
money-boxes. Thus, when the clerical reaction of ’49 sat 
in, all the Bourgeoisie of Plassans passed over to the Con- 
servative party, and were received with open arms. 


102 


THE ROTTGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


Never before had the nobles of Saint-Marc been on 
such terms of familiarity with merchants and attorneys, 
and this was quite enough to excite the enthusiasm of the 
new recruits. To obtain these results the clergy had 
worked with incredible patience. 

The nobility of Plassans were in a lethargy apparently. 
They kept their religious faith, which showed itself in no 
acts ; and when the catastrophe of 1 848 should have 
thrilled them with hope for the return of the Bourbons, 
it found them indifferent and dull. They uttered a 
few vague words of throwing themselves into the melee, 
and did not leave their firesides. The clergy combated 
unceasingly with this feeling of powerlessness and resig- 
nation, for a priest only struggles more energetically 
when he despairs. The whole policy of the church is to 
struggle on, even if the results of these struggles must be 
indefinitely postponed — postponed for centuries, if it must 
be. They are not idle meanwhile, but push on continu- 
ally to the front. 

It was the clergy at Plassans who led the reaction, and 
the ground was certainly well prepared for them. This 
old Royalist town, this population of peaceful Bourgeoisie, 
would sooner or later range themselves on the side of 
order. The great question now was to strangle the Re- 
public, and the Republic was in its death-throes. There 
were not more than a thousand out of the ten thousand 
mechanics, who formerly saluted the tree of liberty planted 
in the middle of the square, who still bowed before it. 

The shrewdest politicians in Plassans — those who 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


103 


directed the Revolutionary movement — did not scent the 
Empire until later. The popularity of Prince Louis Napo- 
leon seemed to them a mere passing caprice of the people, 
nor were they inspired by any admiration of the Prince 
personally. They regarded him as a nonentity, incapable 
of ruling France with a steady hand. In their eyes he was 
a mere instrument of which they could make use, and of 
whom they could rid themselves when the hour came, or 
when the true Pretendant should appear. 

But as months passed away they became anxious, and 
also vaguely conscious that they had been duped. They 
had, however, no time to act, for the Coup d’etat burst over 
their heads, and the Clergy and Nobility were forced to 
applaud, — to accept it as a partial triumph — and to 
postpone until a later date the realization of their hopes — 
revenging their mistakes by uniting with the Bonapartists 
to crush the Republicans. 

These events made the fortunes of the Rougon family, 
who grew like weeds on the ruins of Liberty. 

Felicite, whose nose was the most delicate among them, 
quickly comprehended that they were on a good scent. 
She buzzed restlessly about her husband to stir him up. 
He was terrified at the first rumors of the Revolution, but 
when his wife pointed out to him that he had much to 
gain and little to lose by the change, he was quickly con- 
verted to her opinion. 

“ I do not know what you can do,” said F6licit6, "but 
it seems to me that there is something. Did not Monsieur 
de Carnavant say the other day that he would be rich if 


104 


THE ROTTGON-M ACQTT ART FAMILY. 


Henri V. should ever return, and that this king would 
well reward all those who had worked for his return ? It 
may be that our fortune lies in that direction.” 

The Marquis de Carnavant was the Noble who, accord- 
ing to the gossip of the town, had been the lover of 
F6licit£’s mother. He came occasionally to call on the 
Rougons. He was a small man, thin, active, and about 
seventy-five. It was said that he had wasted on women 
all that remained of the small fortune which his father, 
an £migr£, had bequeathed to him. He admitted his 
poverty with the best grace in the world. He resided with 
one of his relatives, the Comte de Valqueyras, eating at 
his table, and occupying a tiny room in the attic. 

"Little one,” he said, tapping Felicite on the cheek, 
" if ever Henri V. gives me back my fortune, I will make 
you my heir.” 

F£licit§ was fifty, and yet he never called her anything 
but “ little one,” or “ child.” It was of these familiar taps 
and these vague promises that Madame Rougon thought, 
when she urged her husband to enter into politics, and 
when she pointed out her reasons to Pierre, he was quite 
ready to follow her bidding. 

The Marquis was, in the early days of the Republic, the 
active agent of the Reactionary movement. This little 
man, who had all to gain by the return of the legitimate 
sovereigns, occupied himself eagerly with the triumph of 
their cause. "While the rich noblesse of the Quartier 
Saint-Marc slumbered in mute despair — fearing by any 
rash step to compromise themselves and be again con- 


THE EOFGOX-3IACQUAET FAMILY. 


105 


demned to exile — he busied himself in making new con- 
verts and bringing back the old. His visits to the Rou- 
gons were daily, for a centre of operations was needed by 
him. His host, the Comte Yalqueyras, had forbidden him 
to introduce one of his political associates under his roof, 
and he was rejoiced to make use of F^licite’s yellow salon. 
Pierre, too, he found extremely useful, as he could not 
very well go himself and preach the cause of Legitimacy 
to the workmen in the old Quartier, he would have been 
hissed; but Pierre, on the contrary, had lived among these 
people, spoke their language, knew their needs and ways, 
and catechised them adroitly. He became indispensable 
to the Marquis, and in less than a fortnight the Rougons 
were more Royalists than the king himself. The Mar- 
quis, seeing Pierre's zeal, took shelter behind him. AYhat 
was the srood of bein^ seen himself when a man with such 
broad shoulders could bear the whole responsibility ? He 
let Pierre swell with pomposity, and talk as if he ruled 
everything, while he himself pushed him on, or held him 
Lick as he pleased, or considered necessary. 

The old oil merchant was soon an important person. 
F£licit& would say to him when they were alone : 

“ Go on boldly ; fear nothing. AYe are on a good road 
and we shall be rich — have a salon, and can give soirees.'’ 

And in this way did a circle of conspirators gather to- 
gether every night in the yellow salon to plan the down- 
fall of the Republic. 

There were three or four retired merchants who trem- 
bled for their fortunes, and who demauded a strong and 


106 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


steady government. There was a certain Rondier, with 
an insinuating countenance, who talked with passionate 
vehemence of the disarrangement of all his plans caused 
by the fall of Louis Phillippe. The Revolution had 
killed all his hopes, but his fortune and his former con- 
nection with the Tuileries gave him a certain prestige; 
for when a man has made money in Paris, and conde- 
scends to spend it in the country, he always acquires there 
an enormous influence, people listening to him as if he 
were an oracle. 

But the strongest mind in the salon was the Command- 
ant Secardot, the father-in-law of Aristide. He was a 
perfect Hercules in appearance, and his red face and gray 
whiskers gave him a very soldier-like air. He had much 
to say of his campaigns, recalling with pride Napoleon’s 
great reign, and commenting with bitter scorn on the bar- 
ricades and street skirmishes which had taken place in 
February. 

At the Rougons was also to be seen a person with cold, 
clammy hands and furtive glances — Vuillet by name, a 
man who furnished all sorts of holy images, relics and 
beads, to the devout of the town. He was the librarian 
also of a classical as well as a religious library. He was 
a rigid Catholic, which assured him a large custom among 
the converts. He, by a stroke of genius, added to his 
business the publication of a semi-weekly journal — the 
Gazette de Plcissans — devoted exclusively to the interests 
of the Clergy. This journal was by no means a pecuniary 
success, but it made him the champion of the church. 


THE ROUGON-MACQUAKT FAMILY. 107 

This illiterate man, whose orthography was more than 
doubtful, himself corrected the articles of the Gazette with 
humility and fidelity, which took the place of talent. The 
Marquis saw this, and was struck by the advantages he 
might gain from this dull-looking person and from his in- 
terested pen. From that time the Gazette improved. The 
Marquis corrected the proof. The yellow salon presented 
a very odd appearance every evening now. The most 
contrary opinions elbowed each other, but all were against 
the Republic. The Marquis soothed each little quarrel 
as fast as it rose; he wielded a strong influence, for 
every one was at heart deeply flattered by the pressure 
of the hand with which the Marquis greeted them 
when he entered the room. Rondier alone, as a free- 
thinker, laughed at the airs and graces of the Marquis, 
saying that he had not a sou. The old nobleman saw 
this, but was apparently blind. He was the soul of 
the group. He commanded in the name of unknown 
persons. 

“They desire this and they object to that,” he said. 
When the Marquis pronounced the mysterious “They,” 
the whole assembly was thrilled. Felicity was intensely 
happy, she gloried in her salon and its guests. She was 
a little ashamed of her shabby furniture, but consoled her- 
self with the thought of the magnificence by which she 
should be surrounded as soon as the good cause triumphed. 
The Rougons had taken their Royalism very seriously. 
Felicite went so far as to say, that if they had failed to 
make their fortune, it was on account of the Revolution of 


108 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

July. This was by way of giving a political coloring to 
their poverty. 

This salon soon became, owing to the influence of the 
clergy, the centre of Plassans politics. In April, 1849, 
Eugene left Paris and passed a couple of weeks with his 
father. The real end and aim of this visit no one ever 
knew, but it was believed that he came to feel the pulse 
of the public, and see if he had any chance of being sent 
to the National Assembly from his native town. He was 
too wise to risk a defeat, and probably public opinion 
struck him as being unfavorable, for he abstained from 
any attempt in that direction. 

When he appeared, however, at Plassans, they sought to 
make him talk, he feigned utter ignorance, however, and 
made others open their lips instead, listening intently 
to all that was said in the yellow salon. He took his seat 
on the arrival of the first guest, as far as possible from the 
light, and sat with impassive countenance. When his 
opinion was asked, he answered politely, agreeing with the 
majority. Nothing seemed to exhaust his patience: neither 
the visionary utterances of the Marquis, who talked of the 
Bourbons as if it were thirty years earlier, nor the effusive 
moans of Pondier, who grew very plaintive as he told 
how many pair of socks he had once been in the habit of 
furnishing to the Citizen King. 

Eugene’s eyes sometimes laughed, but his lips never lost 
their gravity. His courteous way of listening conciliated 
every one. Vuillet alone looked at him doubtfully. This 
librarian, a combination of a sacristan and a journalist, said 


THE EOUGON-lMACQUART FAMILY. 109 

little, but saw much. He noticed that the newcomer 
talked a great deal apart with the Commandant Secardot, 
but he could never catch a word uttered by either, for 
Eugene silenced Secardot by a look as soon as any one 
approached. Secardot about this time began to speak of 
Napoleon with a mysterious smile. 

Two days before his return to Paris, Eugene was con- 
sulted by his brother Aristide, who was in great per- 
plexity. He had for some little time affected the keenest 
admiration for the new government. His intelligence, 
quickened by his two years in Paris, saw further than the 
duller brains of Plassans. He saw the powerlessness of 
both Legitimists and Orleanists, but could not clearly dis- 
cern the third robber who had come to steal the Republic. 
He meant, however, at all costs, to be on the side of 
victory. 

He had broken with his father, speaking of him in 
public as an old imbecile, bejuggled by the influence of 
the nobles, who were making a tool of him for their own 
purposes. 

“My mother is an intelligent woman,” he said, “and I 
would never have imagined her capable of urging her 
husband to indulge in such chimerical hopes. They will 
end by losing every sou they have in the world. But 
women never ought to meddle with politics.” 

Aristide intended to sell himself as dearly as possible; 
but, unfortunately, he was groping in the dark, for in the 
country, away from Paris, he felt himself utterly lost. 
AYdiile waiting for the course of events to be more clearly 
7 


110 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

defined, he retained the position he had first assumed of 
an enthusiastic Republican, and in this manner not only 
retained his office, but had even succeeded in having his 
salary raised. 

Impelled, however, to play some role, he had written 
some articles of so incendiary a character that he shivered 
when he looked them over. These were printed in a 
Democratic journal, published by a friend. He was es- 
pecially severe in his allusions to those persons who most 
frequented his father’s salon, for the wealth of some of 
them exasperated him to such a degree that he lost all 
prudence. He had thus made several bitter enemies, for 
the author of these attacks was more than suspected. It 
was just at this time that Eugene arrived at Plassans. To 
this elder brother, Aristide had always accorded great 
ability. In his opinion, Eugene slept with one eye open, 
like a cat watching at a mouse-hole; and when he heard 
of the cordiality shown by him toward the habitues of the 
yellow salon, and of his especial deference to the Marquis, 
he asked himself, anxiously, what he could believe? Had 
he been mistaken? Had the Legitimists a chance of 
success? This idea filled him with terror. 

The evening before he met Eugene he had published an 
article reflecting on the clergy, in reply to a statement 
made by Vuillet, who was his bote noir. Never a week 
passed that the two men did not exchange personalities. 

Aristide, who did not wish to show his anxiety, said, 
carelessly : 

“ Did you read my article yesterday ? What did you 
think of it?” 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. Ill 

Eugene shrugged his shoulders. 

“ You are a simpleton, ” he replied, quietly. 

“ Then,” cried his brother, “ you think Yuillet in the 
right ? ” 

Eugene was about to reply that he thought Yuillet as 
great a simpleton as himself, when catching the gleam of 
anxiety in his brother’s eyes, he checked himself. 

“ Yuillet is not altogether wrong,” he said, calmly. 

Aristide, on leaving his brother, was really more per- 
plexed than before. But he made up his mind to be wary, 
and not to tie his hands in such a way that he could not 
use them to aid in strangling the Republic. 

The morning of his departure, Eugene took his fathef 
aside and had a long conversation with him. In vain did 
Felicite try to hear what was said. The two men talked 
very low, as if they feared a word should be overheard. 
When they entered her presence, both seemed unusually 
animated, and her son, who usually spoke in a slow, soft 
voice, said quickly to his father : 

“ You understand me, sir, I trust. That is our road to 
fortune. In that direction must we work with all our 
strength. Be sure that I am right.” 

“I will follow your instructions to the letter,” answered 
Rougon ; “ but you must not forget the recompense for my 
labors which I have asked.” 

“ If we succeed, you will have no reason for dissatisfac- 
tion — that I promise you. I will write and keep you 
informed. But you must obey me quietly and blindly.” 

“ What are you plotting?” asked Felicity curiously. 


112 THE ROUGON-MACQTJART FAMILY. 

“My dear mother,” replied Eugene, with a smile, “you 
have so little confidence in me that I cannot confide all 
my hopes to you, for as yet they have small foundation. 
Faith is needed to comprehend me. Besides, my father 
will instruct you when the hour comes.” 

And, as Felicite looked deeply offended, he whispered 
in her ear : 

“ I have confidence in you, although you doubt me. 
But too much intelligence will do us harm just now. 
When the crisis arrives, you will be the one on whom I 
shall lean.” 

He went away, but turned back to say : 

“ Be very guarded with Aristide ; he is a blunderhead, 
who will spoil everything. But I have studied him 
enough to know that he will always fall on his feet. If 
we make our fortunes, he will know how to steal his 
share.” 

When Eugene had gone, his mother did her best to dis- 
cover the secret of his conversation with Pierre. She 
knew her husband too well to interrogate him openly. He 
would have answered her angrily that it was none of her 
affairs. But notwithstanding all the marvellous tact and 
ingenuity she displayed, she learned absolutely nothing. 
Eugene had selected his confident well; for Pierre, much 
flattered by his son’s choice, was more impassible and 
apparently obtuse than ever. When F6licit6 fully com- 
prehended that she could never elicit a word of informa- 
tion, she ceased to try. But she was intensely curious as to 
the meaning of the one sentence she had heard. 


THE EOUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


113 


The two men had spoken of a price stipulated upon by 
Pierre. What was this price? Felicite cared little for 
the political side of the question, but this part of it touched 
her more nearly, and she burned to know the nature of the 
bargain. 

One evening, when her husband was in an especially 
good humor, she led the conversation toward the annoy- 
ances entailed by their poverty. 

“ It is about time that this should end,” she said. “ We 
are ruining ourselves in wood and oil since these gentle- 
men have been frequenting our salon in this way. Who 
will pay our bills? No one, apparently.” 

Her husband fell into the snare. He smiled in a lofty 
manner. 

“ Patience,” he said; “have a little patience.” 

Then he added with a cunning air, looking his wife full 
in the eyes: 

“ Would you like to be the wife of a Receiver-general?” 

F6licit6 colored with joy. 

“ At Plassans do you mean ? ” 

Pierre nodded. He enjoyed his wife’s surprise. 

“ But,” she said, “enormous securities would be required. 
I heard that our neighbor Monsieur Pierotte was obliged 
to deposit eighty thousand francs in the Treasury.” 

“I dare say; but that is not my concern. Eugene will 
attend to all that through a Parisian banker. At first 
Eugene objected, but I was firm, and he yielded. To be 
a Receiver one does not need either Greek or Latin.” 

Felicite listened in a paroxysm of delight. 


114 THE KOU GON-M ACQU ART FAMILY. 

“Oar dear son,” continued Pierre, “thought we had 
best 20 to some other town, but I wished to remain 
here.” 

“To be sure,” said the old lady. “We have suffered 
here, and here we will triumph. I will crush them all 
with envy — all those ladies who have looked so contempt- 
uously at my woollen dresses. But I did not think of your 
being Receiver. I thought you would prefer to be 
Mayor.” 

“Mayor! That is absurd. Eug&ne said something 
about that, but I said instantly, ‘No, not unless you 
assure me a salary of fifteen thousand francs.’” 

This conversation filled Felicity with enthusiasm. She 
murmured over the words “ fifteen thousand francs, ” and 
then in a solemn tone said : 

“ Let us make a calculation. How much do you suppose 
you will have?” 

“About three thousand francs, I presume, and a certain 
percentage on the receipts, which at Plassans would bring 
up the amount to some fifteen thousand. That is what 
Pierotte has. But that is not all. Pierotte has a private 
banking-house. It is permitted. It is a risky business, 
but I shall venture it, I think.” 

“Let us call it twenty thousand, then,” said F6licite, 
with a gasp. “We shall be as rich as any of these gen- 
tlemen. Are the Marquis and any of these people to 
divide the cake with you?” 

“ No, indeed ; it will all be ours.” 

And as she urged him still further, Pierre frowned, 
thinking she would tear his secret from him. 


THE ROUGOY-MACQUART FAMILY. 115 

“ We have talked enough,” he said. “ It is late; let us 
sleep. A thousand things may happen to prevent my 
having the place. Take care what you do and what you 
say.” 

The lamp was put out, but Felicity could not sleep. 
She closed her eyes and built the most marvellous castles 
in the air. She selected the furniture for her new apart- 
ment, and dreamed of superb toilettes. She would be 
able to revenge herself on these gentlemen who entered 
her salon as if it were a caf6, merely to learn the news of 
the day. She had been intensely annoyed at the cavalier 
fashion in which these people came to her. Even the 
Marquis, with his ironical smile, displeased her. There- 
fore the prospect of triumphing over all these persons was 
very sweet to her, and she gloated over it all night. The 
next day, opening her blinds, she smiled as she saw the 
ample damask curtains hanging over Monsieur Pierotte’s 
windows. 

Like all women, Felicite loved a bit of mystery, but she 
was excessively curious to know what was expected of 
Pierre. Suppose he made a mistake ! Suppose Eugene 
were to draw him into some entanglement from which he 
could escape only by the sacrifice of the little property he 
had 1 

Yet she was not without faith. Eugene had such an 
air of authority that she could not but believe in him. 
Pierre spoke of the persons high in authority whom her 
son knew in Paris. She knew nothing of his associates or 
habits of life, while it was impossible for her to close 
her eyes on the follies committed by Aristide at Plassans. 


116 THE EOUGON-MACQUAET FAMILY. 

In her own salon he was commented upon with severity. 
Granoux called him brigand between his teeth, while Ron- 
dier said, more than once: “ Your son is too clever by half. 
Yesterday he attacked our friend Vuillet in the most 
revolting manner.” 

All the salon agreed in chorus. Pierre formally repu- 
diated his son, while the poor mother dropped her head, 
and silently devoured her tears. She with difficulty re- 
strained herself from crying out to Rondier that her dear 
child, with all his faults, was far above him and all the 
others. But she was in fetters; she dared not compromise 
a position so laboriously acquired. 

The next day she saw her son secretly, and entreated 
him not to irritate the habitues of the yellow salon. Aris- 
tide told her that it was she who was to blame, for allow- 
ing her husband to be the tool of the Marquis. Felicite 
was so overwhelmed by this accusation that she determined, 
in the event of Eugene’s success, to share the results with 
Aristide, who was still her favorite son. 

After the departure of Eugene, Pierre Rougon fell back 
into his old life. Nothing seemed in the smallest degree 
changed in that yellow salon. The same faces appeared 
there each successive evening to make the same propaganda 
in favor of a Monarchy, and the master of the house lis- 
tened to them with the same approval as before. Eugene 
had left Plassans on the 1st of May, and a few days later 
there was a grand excitement in the yellow salon. A vio- 
lent discussion took place in regard to the letter written by 
the President of the Republic to General Oudinot, in which 
the siege of Rome was decided upon. 


THE LOUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 117 

This letter was regarded as a brilliant victory, due to the 
firm stand taken by the Reactionary party. Since 1848 the 
Chambers had discussed the Roman question ; it was re- 
served to a Bonaparte to stifle a new-born Republic, by an 
intervention of which France, when free, would never 
have been capable. 

One evening, a month later, the Commandant entered 
the salon, and announced that the French army were fight- 
ing under the walls of Rome. 

As he said this he pressed Pierre’s hand in a significant 
fashion, and as soon as he was seated, began to eulogize the 
President, who, he said, was the only man who could save 
France from anarchy. 

“ Let him save her at once,” said the Marquis; “or let 
him do his duty and hand her over to her lawful masters.” 

Pierre seemed to approve of this reply. Having done 
this, he ventured to say that his sympathies were with 
Louis Bonaparte in this matter. 

This remark was followed by an interchange of phrases 
between himself and the Commandant in praise of the 
President, which seemed to have been prepared for the 
occasion. For the first time Bonapartism seemed to have 
entered the yellow salon, where, to be sure, since the elec- 
tion of December, the Prince had been treated with a cer- 
tain gentleness; but to-night Pierre’s and the Commandant’s 
eulogies were accepted with enthusiasm. 

The Marquis stood leaning against the mantel, with his 
eyes fixed on a faded rose on the carpet at his feet. When 
he finally lifted his head, Pierre, who had been watching 
him stealthily, saw him smile slightly. 


118 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

Vuillet said, in his sharp voice: 

“ I should rather see your Bonaparte in London than 
Paris. Our affairs would get on better.” 

The oil merchant turned very pale. 

“ I do not know what you mean by 1 my ’ Bonaparte ; 
I only intend to say that this expedition to Borne is a 
good thing.” 

Felicity followed this scene with curiosity and aston- 
ishment. The smile of the Marquis gave her much to 
think of. 

From this day Bougon never lost an opportunity of 
saying a word in favor of the President of the Bepublic, 
and the Commandant Secardot was sure to reply in the 
same key. 

It was not until the following year that the triumph of 
the Bougon party in Plassans was decisive. The new 
part of the town made them an absolute ovation the day 
that the Tree of Liberty was torn up. This tree, a young 
poplar brought from the banks of the Viorne, was gradu- 
ally withering away, to the great despair of the workmen, 
who came every Sunday to watch the progress of the 
calamity, without being able to comprehend the cause of 
this slow decay. A hatter declared that he had seen a 
woman come from the Bougon house, and pour a bucket 
of poisoned water at the foot of the tree. The story was 
then circulated that Felicity herself watered the tree every 
night with vitriol. The tree was dead at all events, and 
the Municipality declared that the dignity of the Bepub- 
lic demanded that it should be carried away. As they 


THE EOUGON-M ACQIJ ART FAMILY. 119 

feared that the discontent of the people would express 
itself, a late hour of the evening was selected for this 
task. The Conservatives of the Ville Neuve made a little 
fete of the occasion. They came in a body to the Square 
to see the Tree of Liberty laid low. The habitues of the 
yellow salon stationed themselves at the windows. When 
the tree swayed, and finally fell with the stiffness of a hero, 
struck by Death, Felicite waved a white handkerchief. 
Then the crowd applauded, and the spectators waved their 
handkerchiefs also. A group came under the window, 
and cried out: 

“ We will bury it — we will bury it deep!” 

They spoke of course of the Republic. This was a 
glorious evening for Madame Rougon. 

The Marquis smiled mysteriously as he watched her. 
This old gentleman was too keen-sighted not to see* where 
France was drifting. He was one of the first to anticipate 
the Empire, and only a little later admitted frankly that 
his cause was lost. Vuillet felt only that Henri V. had 
become detestable; but he did not care; he could only 
obey his masters, the priests. All his politics amounted 
to, was to sell as many rosaries and holy images as 
possible. 

As to Rondier and Granoux they were — so to speak — 
dumb and blind. They did not seem to have an opinion : 
they merely wished to eat and sleep in peace. 

The Marquis, though with nothing further to hope for, 
came no less regularly to the Rougons. They amused him. 
He, with malicious pleasure, retained in his own heart the 


120 


THE EOUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


conviction which he felt that the hour of the Bourbons had 
not come. He obeyed the orders given by the clergy with 
even more than his customary docility. He had long since 
penetrated Pierre’s new tactics, and he supposed Felicity 
to be his accomplice. 

One evening he found her alone in the salon when he 
entered. 

“Ah, well, my dear child,” he said, with smiling famil- 
iarity. “How are your affairs progressing ? What is the 
use of deceiving me ? ” 

“ I do not understand you,” answered Felicity. 

“ It is foolish to attempt to deceive an old fox like me,” 
he continued. “ Treat me like a friend, my child. I am 
always ready to aid you secretly ; only be frank with me.” 

Felicity had a brilliant idea. She had nothing to tell, 
but she could learn from him, if she only knew how to 
hold her tongue. 

“ I was sure you were behind your husband, for he is 
not sharp enough to invent the pretty little treason which 
you have prepared. I wish with all my heart that the 
Bonapartes may give you all that I hoped to have 
obtained for you from the Bourbons.” 

This simple phrase confirmed all Madame Kougon’s 
suspicions. 

“ Then Prince Louis has all the chances ? ” she said, 
eagerly. 

“Will you betray me, if I tell you what I think?” 
asked the Marquis, with a smile. “I am an old man now, 
and I am only working for you. But as you have found a 


THE EOUGOX-MACQUAXT FAMILY. 121 

prosperous path without my assistance, I will accept my 
own defeat, and rejoice in your triumph. But have no con- 
cealments from me, for I am always ready to help you.” 

At this moment several of the habitues appeared. 

“ Here they come,” said the Marquis. “ Remember that 
the great art in politics consists in having two sharp eyes 
when other people are blind. You have all the good 
cards in your hand.” 

The next day Felicity determined to gain a certainty. 
It was then early in 1851. For eighteen months Rougon 
had received every two weeks regularly, a letter from his 
son Eugene. He always locked himself into his bedroom 
to read these letters, which he then put into an old secre- 
tary, the key of which he kept in his vest pocket. When 
his wife questioned him, he said simply: 

“Oh! Eugene is well enough!” 

For a long time Felicity had been watching her chance 
to lay her hands on these letters from her son. The next 
morning, while Pierre was asleep, she rose and went on 
tip-toe for the key of the commode, which she substituted 
for the key in the vest pocket. As soon as her husband 
had gone out, she opened the drawer and read the letters 
with feverish curiosity. 

She found full confirmation of her suspicions: there 
were at least forty letters in which she could follow the 
movements of the Bonapartists. It was almost a journal 
which lay before her, giving the events of the days as they 
elapsed, and drawing from each, hopes and counsel. 
Eugene had faith. He spoke of Louis Bonaparte as of the 


122 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


man who alone could disentangle the situation. He had 
believed in him even before his return to France, when 
Bonapartism was treated as a ridiculous chimera. Felicity 
understood that her son, since 1848, had been an active 
agent. Although he did not explain his position very 
clearly, it was evident that he was working for the Em- 
pire under the orders of the persons whom he named 
familiarly. 

He also told his father precisely what he ought to do at 
Plassans, which explained to Felicity certain things her 
husband had done, which at the time had puzzled her 
greatly. Pierre obeyed his son, and obeyed him blindly. 
When the old lady finished these letters, all was clear to 
her. Eugene intended to make his fortune and to recom- 
pense his parents for all they had done for him at the same 
time. His letters contained repeated cautions, and F6licite 
experienced a certain feeling of gratitude. She read again 
certain passages which spoke of the final catastrophe. This 
catastrophe, of which she literally knew nothing, became 
to her like the end of the world — “God would place the 
Elect on one side of the Great White Throne;” among 
these she stood, while on the other were poor lost souls. 

She succeeded in returning the key, but she also prom- 
ised herself to see each letter as it came, and also to appear 
as ignorant as before. These tactics succeeded perfectly, 
as she thus aided her husband constantly without his 
knowledge. She constantly led the conversation in the 
desired direction at the decisive moment. She suffered 
acutely from Eugene’s distrust, and wished to say to him 
when success was insured: 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 123 

“I knew all, and, far from spoiling things, I have as- 
sisted in the triumph.” 

Never did a confidante make so little noise and do such 
inestimable services. The Marquis, to whom she had told 
the whole story, was quite wonderstruck at her conduct. 

She was much disturbed by the rash acts of her dear 
Aristide. She wished to convert this ardent Republican 
to the Napoleonic ideas, but she did not know how to do 
it in a sufficiently prudent way. She remembered how 
earnestly Eugene had bade them beware of Aristide. The 
Marquis agreed with her entirely. 

“ Let Aristide alone,” he said ; “ he does not seem to me 
to be of the kind who will long continue to play the role 
of a martyr.” 

In her desire to indoctrinate all about her, Felicity ap- 
proached her son Pascal, who, with the selfishness of a 
savant absorbed in his researches, cared nothing for poli- 
tics. Empires might crumble, and he would not be dis- 
turbed from his experiments. His mother entreated him : 

“Come,” she said, “and pass your evenings occasionally 
with us. You will make acquaintances there which will 
be of use to you, and who may employ you as their physi- 
cian. All your present patients are poor, and pay you 
nothing.” 

The idea of succeeding, of seeing all her family rich, 
had become a monomania with Felicity. Pascal therefore — - 
to oblige her — appeared in the yellow salon occasionally, 
and found it less tiresome than he supposed. The people 
there seemed to him like curious animals which hitherto 
had escaped his observation. He listened to their empty 


124 THE KOUGOX-MACQUART FAMILY. 

gabble as if it had been the mewing of a cat or the barking 
of a dog. In fact, he regarded this salon as a menagerie. 
The Marquis reminded him of a large green grasshopper, 
while Vuillet struck him as like a toad, and Rondier as a 
fat sheep. The old Commandant was a toothless shepherd 
dog, and he wondered how it was that Granoux, who 
looked so like a calf, did not leave the room on four legs, 
instead of two. 

“ Why do you not talk to these people?” said Madame 
Rougon. 

“ Because I am not a veterinary surgeon,” was the 
reply. 

F6licit6 took him aside one evening and tried to cate- 
chise him. She cherished the secret hope of seeing him 
the fashionable physician at Plassans, but she wished that 
he should start fair as a warm partisan of the regime which 
should succeed the Republic. 

“My dear boy,” she said, “why can you not be reason- 
able? You must think of your future. You are called a 
Republican because you take care of all those people in the 
lower town without pay. Tell me, what are your politi- 
cal opinions?” 

Pascal opened his eyes wide. 

“My opinions,” he repeated, with a smile, “I hardly 
know. You say I am supposed to be a Republican. Well, 
I do not know that I care. I am one, if to be a Republi- 
can means that I wish everybody to be happy.” 

“But you will never be anything,” answered his mother, 
with a sigh. “Look at your brothers — they will make 
their fortunes.” 


THE EOUGOX-MACQUART FAMILY. 125 

Pascal laughed half-sadly, for he saw that his mother 
simply reproached him for not being shrewd enough to 
speculate in the political situation. He turned the con- 
versation then, but F6licit6 was never able to induce him 
to evince any interest or take any decided position. 

Eighteen hundred and fifty-one was a year of great 
anxiety in the political world of Plassans. The most con- 
tradictory news arrived from Paris. Sometimes the Re- 
publicans were in the ascendency, and in the next breath 
it was the Conservative party. 

The echoes of the quarrels which convulsed the Legis- 
lative Assembly reached the Provinces one morning, grew 
to alarming proportions before night, and the next day 
faded away. The general feeling was, however, that the 
denouement was near at hand. The people were so sick 
with suspense and uncertainty that they would have thrown 
themselves into the arms of the Grand Turk, if the Grand 
Turk could have saved France from anarchy. 

The Marquis smiled still. One night he leaned over 
Felicite’s chair and whispered: 

“Jdttle one, the fruit is ripe; now is your time to be 
useful.” 

Felicity, who read Eug&ne’s letters regularly, understood 
him at once; but what was she to do to be useful? She 
asked the Marquis: 

“All depends on events,” he replied. “If the Depart- 
ment remains calm, if some insurrection does not disturb 
Plassans, there will be nothing especial for you to do. 
If, on the contrary, the people rise, there will be a 
8 


126 TIIE ROUGON-M ACQU ART FAMILY. 

magnificent role all ready for you. Your husband is a 
little dull—” 

“Oh!” interrupted Felicity “I will undertake to 
quicken his faculties. But do you think the Department 
will revolt?” 

“Undoubtedly it will! Plassans will not move; but 
the neighboring towns have been mined and counter- 
mined by secret societies, and belong to the advanced 
Republicans. If a coup d’6tat takes place, the tocsin will 
be heard throughout the whole district.” 

Felicity reflected a moment. 

“ Do you mean,” she asked, “ that you consider an in- 
surrection necessary to assure our fortunes?” 

“ That is just what I think,” answered the Marquis, with 
a sarcastic smile. “A new dynasty is not founded except 
in an uproar. Blood is a capital fertilizer. Besides, 
the Rougons, like other illustrious families, ought to date 
from a massacre ! ” 

These words, accompanied by a sneer, caused a cold 
shiver to run down his hearer’s back. But she had con- 
siderable brains, and the superb curtains in Moqgieur 
Pierotte’s windows, at which she religiously gazed each 
morning, sustained her courage. When she felt it waver, 
she went to the window and contemplated the Receiver’s 
house. She made up her mind to the most desperate 
acts rather than be checked on the threshold of the land 
of which she had so long dreamed. 

The conversation with the Marquis was followed by the 
reading of a letter from Eugene, who also seemed to be 


THE LOUGON-M ACQUAINT FAMILY. 127 

looking forward to an insurrection. The denouement was 
indeed near at hand. In November it was rumored that 
the Prince President wished to be called Emperor. 

“We will call him whatever he pleases,” cried Granoux, 
“ provided he has these rascally Republicans shot!” 

This exclamation from Granoux, who was supposed to 
be asleep, excited much emotion. The Marquis pretended 
not to hear it, but the others all applauded. 

Pondier now declared himself, and while watching the 
Marquis out of the corners of his eye, said that France 
ought to be governed with a strong hand, and that it was 
of little consequence whose the hand might be. 

The Marquis did not speak ; but Commandant Secardot 
rose. 

“My friends,” he said, “ only a Napoleon can protect 
the persons and the property which to-day are menaced. 
Do not be troubled. I have taken all necessary precau- 
tions that order shall reign here.” 

The Commandant had, in fact, assisted by Rougon, con- 
cealed in a stable near the ramparts a supply of arms, and 
was assured of the fidelity of the National Guards. His 
words produced a happy effect, and that evening, when 
the yellow salon broke up, there was much jaunty talk 
of massacring the Reds if they dared to lift a finger. 

On December 1st, Pierre received a letter from Eugene, 
which, as usual, he read in private. From its perusal he 
emerged with an agitated face. Eel i cite saw this and 
could hardly wait for night and her husband to be 
asleep. 


128 TIIE KOUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

At last she was able to take the key from his pocket, 
and had the letter in her hands. Eugene wrote that 
the hour had come when he had best inform his mother 
of the impending crisis. 

Felicite waited all the next day for a conference which 
did not come. She dared not show any curiosity, and 
continued to feign ignorance, though inwardly raging 
against the silly distrust of her husband, who apparently 
thought her as foolish as the majority of women. Pierre, 
with that marital pride which imparts to a man the be- 
lief in his own superiority, had come to believe that his 
wife was altogether to blame for all the ill luck that had 
been theirs. He fancied he was conducting the present 
affair all by himself, and that therefore, all was going 
smoothly. He therefore decided to confide nothing to his 
wife, notwithstanding his son’s advice. 

Felicity was excessively angry, and determined on some 
quiet revenge. 

“ If he would only commit some great folly,” she 
thought, “and come to me for advice. Then I should 
triumph indeed ! ” 

She was much disturbed at the idea that should Pierre 
succeed without her aid, he would always claim to be her 
superior. She had married this peasant’s son, in preference 
to some notary’s clerk, with the intention of using him 
like a puppet, pulling the strings as seemed to her good. 
And now the puppet, heavy and blind, dreamed of walk- 
ing alone ! This the little old lady protested against with 
every fibre of her active little body. She knew Pierre to 


THE KOUGON-MACQUAET FAMILY. 129 

be obstinate and brutal ; she knew of the receipt he had 
compelled his mother to sign; but she nevertheless felt 
that the present circumstances were most critical, and 
asked for something more than decision. 

The official intelligence of the coup d’etat reached 
Plassans on the afternoon of December 5th. The yellow 
salon was crowded that night. Although the crisis had 
been impatiently anticipated, every face betrayed great 
uneasiness. Pierre himself was very pale as he attempted 
to excuse the conduct of Prince Louis before the Legiti- 
mists and Orleanists assembled. 

“ There is some talk of an appeal to the people,” he 
said, “and the nation will be free to choose the govern- 
ment which is most acceptable to them. The President 
will withdraw before our legitimate masters.” 

The Marquis smiled lightly. E-ondier cried out 
roughly — 

“This is no time for talking. We must act, and at 
once organize our plans to maintain order.” 

These good people all stood in terrible fear of the 
Republicans. The bulletins from Paris had been affixed 
to the door of the Sous- Prefecture, and almost immediately 
the rumor ran through the crowd that several hundred 
men had left their work and were organizing. 

About nine o’clock Granoux arrived, hot from a Munici- 
pal council hurriedly convoked. In a voice choked by 
emotion, he said that the Mayor had decided on the most 
energetic measures to preserve order. But this intelligence 
was of minor consequence to that which he next gave, 


130 THE KOUGON-MACQUAET FAMILY. 

namely, that the Sub-Prefect had been removed. This 
functionary had absolutely refused to communicate to the 
inhabitants of Plassans the despatches from the Minister 
of the Interior. He was the only Sub-Prefect in all 
France who had the courage to express these Democratic 
opinions. 

The Rougon faction chuckled over the defeat of the 
Sub-Prefect, which left them greater liberty of action 
than they had ventured to hope for. It was promptly 
decided that the yellow salon should accept the coup d’etat, 
and declare themselves in favor of the faits accomplis. 
Vuillet was bidden to write an article to this effect at 
once, which should be published in the Gazette the next 
day. Neither he nor the Marquis made any objection. 
They had probably received their instructions from the 
mysterious persons to whom they so often made allusion. 
The clergy and nobility united with the conquerors to crush 
their common enemy, the Republic. 

Aristide, this same evening, was in a state of breathless 
anxiety similar to that felt by a gambler, who risks 
his last louis at cards. The dismissal of his chief that 
day had given him time for reflection. He wrote an 
article in the meantime, and then went out to walk, 
hoping to cool the fever of his brain. 

He glanced up at the Rougon windows, and found them 
brilliantly lighted. 

“What are they plotting there?” he said to himself, 
burning with curiosity to know what the yellow salon 
thought of recent events. He did not, as a general thing, 


TIIE EOUGON-MACQUAItT FAMILY. 


131 


attach much importance to the opinion of these people, 
but he was now in a state of mind when he would have 
taken the advice of a child four years old. He did not 
dare appear in his father’s rooms just then, and yet he 
quietly mounted the stairs, wondering at the same time 
what would be thought of him if by any chance he should 
be surprised. 

He reached the door and heard a confused murmur of 
voices. 

“ I am a perfect fool,” he said ; and turned to go down. 
But at that moment he heard his mother’s voice — she was 
showing some one out. He had only time to turn into a 
recess where a narrow flight of stairs ran to the roof. 

The door opened ; the Marquis appeared. 

“Ah! my child,” he said, as the two stood for a 
moment. “ These people are more cowardly than I 
supposed. With such men as these, poor France will be 
always at the mercy of whomsoever dares to take her ! ” 

He added, bitterly, as if talking to himself. 

“ Monarchy is decidedly too honest for modern times. 
Its day is over.” 

“Eugene forewarned his father,” F6iicit6 answered. 
“The triumph of Prince Louis is certain.” 

“ Oh, you can move boldly now,” replied the Marquis, 
as he went down the stairs. “In two or three days 
France will be strangled. Good-night, little one ! ” 

Felicity closed the door. Aristide was stunned. He 
rushed down the street to the printing office. He felt that 
he was the dupe of his family, wilfully kept in the dark 


132 THE EOUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

by them. He was especially exasperated against his 
father whom he believed to be a Legitimist, and who 
turned out a Bonapartist at the right moment. 

“ They have allowed me to commit a goodly amount of 
follies,” he muttered. 

He rushed into the newspaper office and demanded his 
article. It was in type. He broke up the form, and was 
not satisfied until he had rattled the letters altogether, as if 
they had been dominos. The editor looked at him in 
amazement, but in his heart he was overjoyed at this inci- 
dent, as the article struck him as being dangerous. But he 
was out of matter. 

“ You must give me something else,” he said. 

“Of course,” answered Aristide, snatching up a pen. 
He wrote a warm panegyric of the coup d’etat, and in the 
first line declared that Prince Louis had come to save the 
Republic. After writing a page he held his pen uplifted. 
His sharp face was much disturbed. 

“ I must go home first,” he exclaimed. “ I will send 
this article to you in an hour. You need not issue the 
paper cpiite so early as usual ; it will make no especial dif- 
ference.” 

He walked slowly home, deep in thought. He was 
again a prey to indecision. Eugene was clever, to be sure, 
but had not his mother exaggerated some simple phrase of 
his? Would it not be better to wait a while? 

An hour elapsed. Angele rushed into the editor’s 
office. 

“My husband has just been terribly hurt,” she cried. 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 133 

His fingers have been crashed in a door, and he was only 
able to dictate this little paragraph, which he begs you to 
publish in to-morrow’s paper.” 

The next day the Independent appeared with the fol- 
lowing lines at the head of the first column : 

“ A most unfortunate accident to our valued contributor, 
Monsieur Aristide Rougon, will deprive us, we fear, of his 
articles for some little time. The gravity of existing cir- 
cumstances makes this silence on his part peculiarly diffi- 
cult for him and for ourselves. But no one of our readers 
will doubt for a moment that his patriotism desires only 
the happiness of France.” 

This unintelligible nonsense had been most carefully 
studied. The last phrase each party could read according 
to its wishes. The next day Aristide showed himself with 
his arm in a sling. 

His mother, startled by the card in the journal, rushed 
to his house. He refused to show her his hand, and spoke 
with a bitterness that* enlightened the old lady. 

“ It will be nothing,” she said, quite reassured, and con- 
cealing a smile. “ You only need repose.” 

It was undoubtedly on account of this pretended acci- 
dent and the departure of the Sub-Prefect, that the Inde- 
pendent was not molested, like most, or indeed all of the 
Democratic journals in the Department. 

The following day was comparatively quiet. Toward 
evening there was a popular manifestation, quickly dis- 
persed by the police. Some workmen came to ask the 
Mayor for the despatches from Paris; their application was 


134 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

refused haughtily. As they departed they cried out: 
“ Vive la Republique ! Vive la Constitution ! ” but this 
was all, and the yellow salon smiled complacently. 

But the 5th and 6th were more disturbed. The news 
came of insurrections iu all the neighboring towns, and the 
yellow salon was not quite so comfortable. They began to 
think that even if Plassans did not break out into open 
revolt, it could be isolated from all communication with 
the outside world, and some one said that blood had been 
shed in Marseilles, and another that a terrible revolution 
had burst out in Paris. 

On the 7th the yellow salon was in a state of great ex- 
citement, its inmates were white with terror, who talked in 
low voices, as if in a chamber of Death. Intelligence had 
come that three thousand rebels had assembled at Amboise, 
not more than three leagues off. A band of Republicans 
in Plassans had gone to join them, and had marched out 
of the Roman gate singing La Marseillaise, and breaking 
windows as they went. 

The Commandant had despatched his valet to discover 
the exact route taken by the insurgents, and the yellow 
salon was impatiently awaiting the return of this man. 
The circle was complete ; every one of the habitues of the 
Rougon Salon was there. Rondier and Granoux lay back 
in their chairs, groaning and sighing. 

Vuillet, quite calm to all appearance, was deliberating as 
to what he had best do in order to preserve his property 
and his life. He hesitated between his barn and his 
cellar, but rather inclined to the cellar. Pierre and the 


THE ROUGON-MACQUAET FAMILY. 135 

Commandant marched up and down the room, occasionally- 
exchanging a word or two. The Marquis, as carefully 
dressed and as smiling as ever, talked in a corner with 
Felicity, and seemed in the best of spirits. 

There was a ring at the door-bell. These gentlemen 
started as if they had heard a discharge of musketry. 
While Felicity went to open the door, a profound silence 
reigned in the room. 

The Commandant’s servant presently appeared all out 
of breath, and said, hastily, to his master : 

“Sir, the Insurgents will be here in an hour.” 

This was a thunder-clap; every one started to his feet. 
They each and all plied the man with questions. 

“Zound!” cried the Commandant, “do have more 
sense, and keep quiet.” 

The messenger went on to say that he had seen the 
column at Tulettes, and had turned back as quickly as 
possible. 

“ There are three thousand at the very least ; they march 
like soldiers in battalions, and I think I saw prisoners 
among them.” 

“Prisoners! ” exclaimed his hearers, sick with terror. 

“Of course,” interrupted the Marquis, in his flute-like 
tones. “ I was told that the Insurgents arrested persons 
known for their conservative opinions.” 

This was too much for the yellow salon, some of whose 
inmates arose and stealthily gained the door, evidently 
with the idea that they had no time to lose in gaining a 
place of concealment. 


136 


THE EOUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


Felicite took the Marquis aside. 

“ What do these men do with the people they arrest ? ” 
she asked. 

“ They regard them as hostages,” was the reply. 

F6licit6 made no reply, but watched the panic in her 
room with a faint smile. One by one the bourgeois 
departed. 

“ Coward!” muttered the Commandant between his 
teeth. “ For two mortal years these poltroons have talked 
of shooting down the Republicans, and to-day they would 
not dare pull the trigger of a child’s toy.” He took up 
his hat. 

“ Come, Rougon,” he said, “ there is no time to lose.” 

Felicity seemed to have been waiting for this moment. 
She threw herself between her husband and the door, and 
implored him not to follow this terrible Commandant. 

“ You shall not leave me ! ” she cried ; “ these wretches 
will kill you ! ” and she feigned the most overwhelming 
despair. 

The Commandant began to swear. 

“ Upon my life, this is a little too much!” he cried. 
“Come on, Rougon.” 

“ No ! no ! ” exclaimed the old lady, “ he shall not go 
with you.” 

The Marquis looked at Felicite with considerable curi- 
osity. What was the meaning of this farce she was 
playing ? Was this the woman who had just been talking 
so gayly with him ? 

Pierre, whose arm was held by his wife, struggled 
slightly. 


THE EOUGON -M ACQUART FAMILY. 137 

“ You shall not go ! ” repeated Felicity turning to the 
Commandant: 

“ How can you think of resistance ? ” she cried. “ They 
are three thousand strong, and you can’t get together one 
hundred men. You are throwing your lives away.” 

“ What of that ! ” answered the Commandant, impa- 
tiently. “ It is our duty all the same.” 

Felicity burst into wild sobs. “ If they do not kill him,” 
she said with her eyes fixed on her husband, “ they will 
take him prisoner, and what will become of me?” 

“But do you imagine,” answered the 'Commandant, 
“ that he runs no risk if the Insurgents are permitted to 
enter the town quietly ? In less than an hour the Mayor, 
all the officials, and your husband, too, would be lodged in 
prison ! ” 

The Marquis detected a faint smile on Felicity’s lips 

“Do you really believe that?” she asked. 

“ I do, indeed. The Republicans are not quite so dull 
as to leave their enemies behind them. To-morrow 
Plassans’ officials and her best citizens will be no longer 
here.” 

At these words which she had so skilfully elicited, Fe- 
licity dropped her husband’s arm. Pierre had apparently 
relinquished all idea of going out. Thanks to his wife, 
whose able tactics he did not grasp, and whose secret com- 
plicity he did not suspect, he saw liis line of conduct 
clearly marked out before him. 

“My wife is right/ he said; “we are forgetting our 
families.” 


138 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


The Commandant banged his hat down upon his head, 
and said in a most decided tone : 

“ Right or wrong, I am Commandant of the National 
Guard. I ought to be at the Mayor’s office. Acknowledge 
that you are afraid, and I will say good-night to you.” 

He turned the handle of the door. Rougon held his 
arm. 

“ Listen to me, Sccardot,” he said, and he drew the 
Commandant aside, and explained to him in a low voice, 
that in his opinion, some energetic men should be left in 
the town to preserve order, and offered to put himself at 
the head of the reserve. 

“Give me,” said Rougon, “the key of the room where 
the arms and munitions are stored, and tell fifty of your 
men not to stir hand or finger without orders from me.” 

Secardot consented finally to these prudent measures, 
and handed him the key. 

During this conversation the Marquis murmured a few 
complimentary words into the ear of Felicite. This Coup 
de Theatre had awakened his admiration. The woman 
smiled, and as the Commandant left the room, she said, 
“ You are really going?” 

“ One of Napoleon’s old soldiers,” he replied, “ is not 
likely to allow himself to be intimidated by the rabble.” 

Felicity turned to the Marquis and murmured in his 
ear : 

“ I wish to Heavens that this Commandant could be 
arrested. He is altogether too zealous.” 

Rougon returned to the salon, where Granoux and 


THE ROTJGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 139 

Rondier still sat in tlieir respective arm-chairs, stunned and 
bewildered. 

“ Now,” said Pierre, “ that we are alone, I propose to 
you that we shall hide ourselves, and avoid a certain 
arrest.” 

His hearers were quite ready to embrace him. 

“ 1 shall have need of you very soon, gentlemen,” said 
Rougon, pompously. “To us will belong the honor of 
restoring order to Plassans.” 

“You may rely on us,” cried Vuillet, with an enthu- 
siasm that disturbed F6licit6. 

Time pressed. These remarkable defenders of Plassans, 
by way of protecting the town, and restoring it to its 
normal condition of quiet, now hurried to find some place 
of concealment. When Pierre was alone with his wife he 
bade her not commit the blunder of barricading herself, 
but to open the door when any one knocked, and in answer 
to any inquiries for him, she could say that he had gone 
on a short journey. She pretended to be frightened out 
of her wits, and asked what was going to become of them. 
He answered harshly ; 

“Never mind. Let me manage our affairs. They are 
going very well.” 

A few minutes later he was hurrying through the 
streets. He saw a body of Insurgents marching, and 
singing the Marseillaise. 

“Yes,” he muttered, “ it is time. The town is in a state 
of insurrection already.” 

He went at once to the Roman gate, and was covered 


140 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

with cold perspiration, while the man slowly swung it 
open. 

After a step or two on the road, he saw in the yellow 
moonlight, at the other end of the Faubourg, the glitter of 
the fire-arms of the Insurgents. It was with hurrying feet 
that he reached his mother’s house in Saint-Mittre, where 
he had not been for years. 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


141 


CHAPTER I Y. 

INSULTS AND WOUNDS. 

A NTOINE MACQUART returned to Paris after 
Napoleon’s fall. He was in none of the last and 
bloody battles of the Empire. He had been simply dragged 
from one place to another, and lived the uneventful barrack- 
life of a soldier. His indolence was deeply rooted, and his 
drunkenness gained him innumerable punishments, to which 
he was utterly indifferent ; saying to his comrades, 

“ I have money, and when I have served my time, I can 
live in comfort and idleness.” 

This belief and his stupid ignorance prevented his ever 
reaching the grade of corporal. He had not returned to 
Plassans even for a single day since his departure, for his 
elder brother had invented a thousand pretexts to keep 
him away. He was, therefore, in complete ignorance of 
the manner in which Pierre had disposed of their mother’s 
fortune. Adelaide, in the utter indifference in which she 
lived, had written to him only three times, and had then 
contented herself with saying that she was well. The 
silence which followed his demands for money did not 
arouse his suspicions. His knowledge of Pierre’s stingi- 
ness was sufficient to explain the difficulty which he had 
in obtaining from him an occasional piece of twenty francs. 
His animosity against his brother, who had, contrary to his 
9 


142 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

promise, permitted him to remain in the service, increased 
with each year. 

He swore to himself that, on his return, he would no 
longer obey like a little boy, but would claim his share of 
his mother’s property and live at ease. 

The tumbling down of his castles in the air was some- 
thing terrible. When he reached the Faubourg and saw 
that the very landmarks of the Fonque property had van- 
ished, he was literally stunned. He inquired for his 
mother’s address, and when he found her, a frightful scene 
followed. Adelaide calmly informed him of the sale of 
her property. He flew into a violent rage and shook her 
angrily, but the poor woman only replied : 

“ Your brother has everything. He will look out for 
you — never fear.” 

He at last left his mother and went to Pierre, to whom 
he had written, and found him prepared to receive him, 
and to quarrel on the smallest pretext. 

“ Listen to me,” said the oil merchant. "If you insult 
me, I will put you out of the door. What are you to 
me? We do not even bear the same name. It is unfor- 
tunate enough that my mother should have miscon- 
ducted herself as she did, without her illegitimate chil- 
dren coming here to abuse me! I was well disposed 
toward you, but since your present insolence I will not do 
the smallest thing for you.” 

Antoine was half choked with rage. 

"And my money, Thief! Will you give that back to 
me? Or must I drag you before the courts?” 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 143 

Pierre shrugged his shoulders. 

“ I have none of your money,” he said, calmly. “ My 
mother disposed of her fortune precisely as she chose. I 
have never meddled in her affairs, or tried to ferret out 
what she has done with her money. I have voluntarily 
renounced all claims to her estate, and am far above any 
of your vile accusations.” 

And as his brother raved — more and more exasperated 
by this coolness — he laid before his eyes the receipt signed 
by Adelaide. The sight of this paper overwhelmed 
Antoine. 

“It is well,” he said, almost calmly. “I know now 
what to do.” 

The truth was, however, that he was utterly at a loss to 
know in what direction to turn. His sense of powerless- 
ness aggravated his rage. He returned to his mother, and 
asked her a thousand questions. She, poor woman, could 
do nothing but send him back to Pierre. 

“ Do you think,” he cried, insolently, “ that I have 
nothing better to do than to dance between you and him ? 
I shall soon find out who has the money, unless you and 
some rascal of a man have gotten rid of it.” 

He then went on to speak of his father, who he said was 
always tipsy, and had crunched up everything before his 
death, and left his children without a sou. The poor 
woman listened with a stupefied look. Tears ran down 
her cheeks. She defended herself with the terror of a 
child, replying to her son’s questions as if she had been 
standing before a judge. She assured him that she had 


144 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

not a sou with such perseverance that Antoine ended by 
believing her. 

He slept at his mother’s on a mattress thrown in a 
corner. He had returned with empty pockets, and was 
the more exasperated to see his brother prosperous, 
while he was left to roam the streets like a dog with- 
out a master. As he had no money to buy civilian’s 
clothes, he went out the next day in his army pantaloons 
and kepi, wearing, too, a brown velvet coat, which had 
belonged to Macquart. In this most singular costume he 
ran to the authorities and made his complaint. 

He was received with a contempt which brought angry 
tears to his eyes. In the country people are especially 
severe toward fallen families. Pierre, moreover, had 
begun to wash himself clean from the original stain. His 
rascality was laughed at. It was said he had done well 
for himself, and if he had got possession of the whole 
property, that it would be a good lesson for the profligates 
of the town. 

Antoine went back discouraged. One lawyer had bid- 
den him wash his dirty linen in private; but the lawyer, 
before giving this advice, had adroitly managed to find 
out that he had not money enough to carry on his suit. 
According to this man the affair would be a long one, and 
his success more than doubtful. 

That evening Antoine was harder than ever towards his 
mother. He renewed his accusations and his threats. He 
kept the poor woman until midnight, shivering with shame 
and fright. Adelaide told him that Pierre paid her an 
annuity, which made him all the more certain that his 


THE ROU GON-M ACQU ART FAMILY. 145 

brother had pocketed the fifty thousand francs. But in 
his irritation he pretended to doubt, and continued to 
interrogate her with a suspicious air. 

“ No ; I am quite sure my father was not the only one,” 
he said, coarsely. 

At these words she threw herself on an old chest, and 
spent the night in tears. 

Antoine saw that it was impossible for him to carry on 
a contest, unsupported, against his brother. He tried at 
first to interest Adelaide in his behalf, for an accusation 
brought by her would have great weight. But the poor 
woman, gentle as she was, refused to do this. 

“ I am most unfortunate,” she said, “and you are 
right to be angry with me ; but I can never do anything 
to injure one of my children. No; I should prefer that 
you should beat me.” 

He saw that it was useless for him to insist, and he con- 
tented himself by saying that she was justly punished, and 
that he did not pity her in the least. That evening Ade- 
laide had one of those nervous attacks, in which she lay 
for hours, with eyes wide open, stiff and cold as if dead. 
The young man threw himself on his mattress, then started 
up and deliberately searched the house to ascertain if there 
were no small hoards hidden anywhere. He found about 
forty francs. He stole them, and while his mother lay 
unconscious, left the house and took the Diligence for 
Marseilles. 

He hoped that Mouret, the hatter, who had married his 
sister Ursule, would, indignant at Pierre’s rascality, defend 


146 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


his wife’s interests. But he did not find matters as he 
hoped. Mouret said frankly that he had always regarded 
Ursule as an orphan, and that he would not, on any ac- 
count, have any disagreement with her family. Antoine, 
received thus coldly, did not linger long, but before leaving 
he determined to avenge himself for the contempt which 
he read in the eyes of his brother-in-law. 

“ Take care ; my sister has always been very delicate, 
and I find her much changed. You will probably lose her 
before long.” 

The tears which filled Mouret’s eyes proved that he had 
touched an open wound with a rough hand. 

When he got back to Plassans, Antoine felt even more 
than before that his hands were tied, and this certainty 
made him fiercer than before. For a month he wandered 
about, telling his story to whomsoever would listen to him. 
When he had obtained a few sous from his mother, he went 
to the nearest wine-shop, and there sat and abused his 
brother. The sweet fraternity existing between drunken 
men insured him a sympathetic audience. All the vagrants 
in the town espoused his quarrel, and talked vociferously 
of that rascal Rougon, who allowed a brave soldier to 
be penniless and without a crust of bread. The stance 
generally terminated in a denunciation of all rich 
people. 

Antoine, with a sharp eye to vengeance, continued to 
walk about in his old pantaloons and his kepi, although 
his mother offered to buy him more suitable gar- 
ments. He flourished his rags in the eyes of all the 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY, 147 

little world at Plassans — on Sundays even more than on 
other days. 

One of his keenest enjoyments was to pass Pierre’s 
shop twenty times daily. He made the holes in his coat 
larger with his fingers, and often stopped before the door 
to chat with some of his boon companions, who were gen- 
erally quite as tipsy as himself. He would narrate, in the 
loudest voice, the robbery of fifty thousand francs, and his 
words penetrated the most remote corner of the Rougon 
establishment. 

“Upon my word,” said Felicite, in despair, “ he will 
drive us to sell the house ! ” 

The vain little woman suffered terribly at this time. 
She even regretted having married Rougon, who had such 
a terrible family. She would have given worlds to have 
found some way to induce Antoine to parade his rags 
elsewhere. But when she proposed to her husband to give 
him a little money, and induce him to leave, Pierre would 
say angrily : 

“No! not one soul Let him starve, and die in the 
gutter ! ” 

But at last he in his turn admitted that Antoine’s con- 
duct was unendurable. One day Felicity determined to 
bring the matter to a conclusion, and called to “ that 
man,” by which disdainful term she designated Antoine. 
He was with a companion, quite as tipsy as himself. 

“Who is shouting to us?” cried Antoine, sulkily. 
F6licit6 drew back a little. 

“It is to you alone that I wish to speak,” she said. 


148 


THE BOUGON-MACQUAKT FAMILY. 


“ Nonsense ! ” answered Antoine, “this is a good friend 
of mine, and he can hear all you have to say. He is my 
witness.” 

The witness dropped heavily into a chair, and looked 
about him with the stupid smile of tipsy men, who are 
determined to be insolent. 

Felicity stood in front of the door, ashamed that any 
one should look in and see the singular guests she received. 
Fortunately, her husband came to her aid, and a violent 
quarrel ensued between him and his brother, whose thick 
tongue repeated over and over again the same insulting 
epithets. He finally began to weep, and his emotion so 
touched his comrade that he too felt called upon to burst 
into tears. 

Pierre was quite dignified. 

“You are certainly unfortunate,” he said, “and I 
really pity you. You have cruelly insulted me, but I 
cannot forget that we have the same mother. If I give 
you anything, however, you must understand that I do 
it from kindness, and not from fear. Do you want a 
hundred francs ? ” 

This sudden offer dazzled Antoine’s companion, who 
looked at him with an expression which signified, 

“ If he offered you one hundred francs, you had better 
take them and treat him civilly.” 

But Antoine was not so easily contented. He asked 
his brother if he was laughing at him. 

“ No, he would have his share, ten thousand francs — not 
a penny less ! ” 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


149 


" You are wrong,” stammered his friend. 

Pierre lost his patience, and threatened to pitch both 
the friends out of the window. Then Antoine reduced his 
claim to one thousand francs. They quarrelled for a full 
hour, when F6licit6 interfered, for a crowd was gathering 
about the shop. 

“ Look here,” she said, hastily. “ My husband will give 
you two' hundred francs. I will buy you a complete suit 
of clothes, and will hire you a lodging for one year.” 

Rougon shook his head angrily, but Antoine’s com- 
panion shouted, enthusiastically, 

" Done ! My friend agrees.” 

Antoine said, in a sulky tone, that he accepted the offer, 
for he felt that he would obtain no more. It was agreed 
that the money and the clothing should be sent the next 
day, and that Felicite should look for a lodging for him at 
once. 

A week later, Antoine was installed in a large and 
commodious room in the Old Quartier, where F6licit6 — on 
an assurance from him that he would not disturb them 
further — had been better than her promise, and had put in 
a bed, a table, and chairs. 

Adelaide saw her son depart without any regret, for she 
had been condemned to bread and water for the three 
months he had lived with her. Antoine quickly drank up 
the two hundred francs given him by Rougon. He never 
once thought of investing them in some little business by 
which he could live. When he was again without a sou 
he made another application to Rougon. But Pierre 


150 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


quietly bade him take himself off, and forbade him ever to 
cross his threshold again. Antoine repeated his accu- 
sations as loudly as before, but the town, who had been 
kept informed by Felicity of all that had taken place, 
were much impressed with their generosity, and treated 
him as a ne’er-do-well who was a sore trial to his family. 

In the meantime Antoine, sore pressed by famine, 
threatened to become a smuggler like his father. The 
Rougons shrugged their shoulders; they knew him to be 
altogether too cowardly to risk his skin. 

Finally, full of rage against his connections and against 
the whole civilized world, Antoine determined to look for 
work. 

He had made the acquaintance of a basket maker, and 
offered to assist him. In a very little time he had learned 
to braid baskets, of a coarse texture, which sold readily at 
a very low price. 

After a time he worked on his own account. He liked 
this employment, for he could take it up when he pleased. 
He could lounge for several days, and when he was penni- 
less would hurriedly make a dozen baskets, and sell them 
at market. He never took up his osier slips without a 
sullen curse directed against the rich, who lived without 
doing anything. 

The trade of a basket maker is not especially lucrative, 
and he could not have made money enough by it to 
provide for his low tastes, had he not discovered a way of 
obtaining his osier without expense. 

He pretended he bought it more cheaply than he could 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


151 


at Plassans, in a neighboring town, but the truth was 
that he stole it on dark nights from the osier plantations 
on the Viorne. He was discovered once, and spent seve- 
ral days in prison. From that time he became a furious 
Republican. He declared that he was smoking his pipe 
calmly on the bank of the river when the guard arrested 
him. 

“ They want to get rid of me because they know what 
my opinions are. But I do not fear these rich people ; no, 
not I ! ” 

After ten years of this thriftless idleness Antoine Mac- 
quart decided that he worked too hard. His one dream 
was to find some way of living where he would not be 
compelled to work. He was not content with bread and 
water, like some persons who are willing to be hungry, 
provided they can fold their arms. He seriously thought 
of applying for a situation as servant with some nobleman 
in the Quartier Saint-Marc. But one of his friends, who 
was employed as a groom, told him such a tale of his 
deprivations, and of the exacting claims of masters, that 
Macquart, seeing the time was near at hand when he must 
buy his osier, determined to sell himself as a substitute, 
and resume his life as a soldier, which he preferred a thou- 
sand times over to that of a workman. 

At this time he made the acquaintance of a woman, 
which modified all his plans. 

Josephine Gavaudau, known throughout the town under 
the familiar diminutive of Fine, was a tall, stout creature 
of about thirty. Her square face was as large as a man’s, 


152 


THE EOU GON-M ACQUART FAMILY. 


and on her chin and upper lip were several long hairs. 
She was said to have the most extraordinary strength, which 
reputation, as well as her broad shoulders, inspired the 
street boys with such marvellous respect that they dared 
not laugh at her moustache. 

With this stout frame Fifine’s voice was very tiny — that * 
of a little child, clear and flute-like. Those persons who 
knew her best declared that, notwithstanding her terrible 
air, she was as mild as a lamb. She was hard-working, and 
could have saved money had she not loved drink. 

Anisette was her especial adoration, and on Sunday 
evenings she was often carried home. All the week 
through she worked like a dog in several ways. She sold 
fruit and roasted chestnuts in their season, scrubbed and 
washed dishes, and at leisure moments mended straw 
chairs. It was in this way that she was so well known, 
for in the South, straw chairs are almost universal. 

Antoine Macquart made the acquaintance of Fine at 
market. When he went there to sell his baskets in win- 
ter, he generally stood to keep warm by the side of her 
furnace. He was struck by her courage and her perse- 
verance first, and then by degrees, under her rough husk, 
discovered her real timidity and goodness of heart. 

He often saw her give handfuls of chestnuts to the rag- 
ged imps who stood longingly before her smoking wares. 
At other times, when the Inspector of the Market was 
rude, she wept big tears like a child. Antoine finally de- 
cided that this was the sort of wife he needed. She would 
work for them both, and he would rule. She could be his 


THE ROU G ON-M ACQU ART FAMILY. 


153 


beast of burtnen — indefatigable and obedient. As to her 
love of drink, he thought it only quite natural. 

Having duly weighed all the advantages of this union, 
he declared himself. Never had any man before proposed 
marriage to her. In vain did her friends tell her that 
Antoine was the worst of scamps ; she was not courageous 
enough to refuse him. 

They were married, and Antoine took up his residence 
in his wife’s apartment in La Rue C6vadi£re, near the 
Market. This apartment consisted of three rooms much 
more comfortably furnished than his own, and it was with 
a sigh of supreme content that he stretched himself on the 
two excellent mattresses which adorned the bed. All 
went well at first. Fine neglected none of her numerous 
tasks. Antoine braided more baskets in a week than he 
had ever done in a 'month before. But on Sunday war 
was declared. They had a round sum of money in the 
house, and that night they were both tipsy, and fought 
like tigers, while the next day it was impossible for either 
to remember how the quarrel had begun. They had begun 
the evening pleasantly enough ; some trifle exasperated 
Antoine, who gave her a cuff, which she returned. The 
next day she went to work as usual, as if nothing had hap- 
pened; but her husband was sulky, rose late, and spent the 
whole day in the open air, smoking his pipe in the sunshine. 

From this time the life of these people was clearly 
marked out. It was tacitly understood between them 
that the wife would sweat blood and water to support her 
husband. Fine, who loved to work, made no objection. 


154 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


Her patience, when she had not been drinking, was some- 
thing angelic, and she did not seem to think it strange 
that her man was so lazy, and that he should shirk the 
smallest duties. Her darling sin, Anisette, opened her 
eyes apparently, and on the evenings when she had for- 
gotten herself, before a bottle of her favorite liquor, she 
was quite ready for a quarrel, if Antoine began one, and 
would fall on him tooth and nail, reproaching him for his 
ingratitude and indolence. The neighbors became habitu- 
ated to the noise in their rooms, where the husband and 
wife fought and drank by turns. 

“ Some day,” said Fine, to her brutal master, “ you will 
break my arm or my leg; and then who will work for 
you ? ” 

Antoine was by no means dissatisfied with his new life. 
He was well clothed, eat when he was hungry, and drank 
when he was thirsty. He laid aside his basket-making 
entirely, promising himself vaguely to braid a few soon. 
He kept under his bed a bundle of osier for twenty 
years. 

The Macquarts had three children, two daughters and a 
son. 

Lisa, the eldest, was born a year after the marriage of 
their parents. She was a healthy, handsome child, very 
like her mother, but never showed a tithe of her energy 
and industry. She inherited from her father a love of ease 
and a certain indolence, and as a child would work all 
day for a cake. When she was seven, a neighbor took a 
great fancy to her, as a little servant, and when this woman 


* 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


155 


lost her husband in 1859, and she went to Paris to live, 
she took Lisa with her — her parents had, as it were, given 
her the child. 

The second daughter, Gervaise, was lame from her 
birth. Conceived in drunkenness, her twisted thigh was a 
strange reproduction of the brutality which her mother 
had been compelled to endure. 

Gervaise was very delicate, and Fine, seeing her always 
pale and feeble, put her on a regime of Anisette, under 
pretext that she needed strengthening. Gervaise grew up 
tall and slender, always wearing dresses that were much 
too large, and floated loosely about her. Her face was 
very delicate and sweet, while her infirmity was almost a 
grace. 

The son, Jean, was born three years later. A strong, 
hardy fellow, as like his mother in character as he was 
unlike her physically. He grew up with the determi- 
nation to create for himself some day an independent 
position. He went regularly to school, and studied hard 
to acquire a little arithmetic and orthography; but his 
mental faculties were so slow in operation, that it took 
him a day to learn what others would acquire in an hour. 

' As long as these children lived at home, Antoine 
grumbled at the useless mouths who devoured his wife’s 
earnings. He swore never to have another child, decla- 
ring that his wife always gave the best in the house to the 
children. 

Each pair of shoes and each new garment Fine bought 
for them caused him to sulk for forty-eight hours. He 


156 THE ROU G ON -M ACQU ART FAMILY. 

thought it outrageous that, for the sake of these children, 
he should be compelled to smoke four sous tobacco, and to 
dine on potatoes which he detested utterly. 

Later, when Jean and Gervaise began to earn some- 
thing, he was more kindly disposed toward them. Lisa 
had gone. He accepted the earnings of the children 
without the smallest compunction, for had he not done the 
same by their mother? When Gervaise was eight years 
old, she went to a merchant near by to crack almonds. 
She was paid ten sous per day, which her father regularly 
pocketed, and Fine never dared ask what became of the 
money. When the girl was apprenticed to a fine laun- 
dress and finally received two francs per day, the two 
francs were swallowed up in the same way. Jean, who 
was with a cabinet-maker, was robbed in the same way by 
Macquart, who intercepted him before the boy could take 
his money to his mother. If by any chance this slipped 
through the father’s fingers, which sometimes happened, 
Antoine was in a terrible state of mind, and for a week 
would watch wife and children with the most ferocious 
aspect, ready to quarrel on the smallest provocation, but 
not having quite audacity enough to acknowledge the 
cause of his irritation. 

Gervaise grew up in the street with the boys of the 
neighborhood, and at fifteen bore a child, the father of 
which was a workman named Lantier. Macquart was 
furious, but when he found that Lantier’s mother, a good 
woman, was ready to take the child, he calmed down 
again. But he took care to say nothing of Lantier’s 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 157 

marrying Gervaise, for his daughter made considerable 
money. Four years later she had a second son, whom 
Lantier’s mother also took. Macquart closed his eyes 
this time, and seemed to see nothing. 

This epoch was the best in Antoine Macquart’s life. 
He was dressed like a tradesman, with a coat and panta- 
loons of fine cloth. He was clean and well shorn, and not 
in the least like the ragged fellow who formerly fre- 
quented the wine shops. He read the newspapers at the 
Cafes, and walked on the parade ground with the fashion- 
able world. He played the gentleman as long as he had 
money in his pocket. When he had none, he remained at 
home and reproached every one with his poverty, and, in 
short, made himself so utterly disagreeable, that Fine in 
self-protection gave him the last silver piece in the house, 
so that he could spend the evening at the Cafd. He was 
the very incarnation of selfishness. Gervaise brought at 
least sixty francs jier month into the house, and wore thin 
calico dresses all winter, while he ordered vests of black 
satin from the best tailor in Plassans. Jean was de- 
spoiled with equal impudence. The Caf6, where his father 
spent entire days, was exactly opposite his master’s shop ? 
and while the lad stood with his plane or his saw near the 
window, he could see, on the other side of the street, “ Mon- 
sieur ” Macquart sugaring his coffee, or playing piquet with 
some petty shopkeeper. It was with the lad’s money that 
the scamp was playing. The boy never went to the Caf6, 
for he had not even the five sous required for a gloria.* 

* A cup of coffee or tea, with a dash of spirit in it. 

10 


158 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

Antoine treated his son as if he had been a girl: not 
allowing him to keep a centime, and demanding an exact 
account of his time and movements. 

If the poor fellow allowed himself to be overpersuaded 
by his comrades, and spent a day in the country, his father 
would strike him and reproach him with the four francs 
he had thrown away. He thus kept his son in a state of 
dependence. There came to the Macquarts several friends 
of Gervaise — merry, laughing girls — who filled the room 
with youth and gayety. Poor Jean, deprived of all 
amusement, kept in the house by lack of means, admired 
these girls ; but his timidity was so great that he did not 
dare to lay a finger upon them. Macquart shrugged his 
shoulders in pity. 

“What an innocent \” he muttered, with an air of 
ironical superiority. 

And it was he who kissed these girls when his wife’s 
back was turned. He even went further with a little 
laundress in whom Jean was especially interested. The 
old rascal piqued himself on his gallantry, and pillaged 
the house without the smallest sense of shame. He as- 
sumed the most superior ail's, and never came in from the 
Caf§ without a sneer at the poverty of his home. He said 
the dinner was detestable, that Gervaise was a fool and 
that Jean would never be a man. 

Wrapped up in himself, hegayly rubbed his hands when 
he had eaten the best in the pantry, and then smoked his 
pipe, while the two children, worn out with fatigue, slept 
with their heads on the table. His days were empty 


THE ROUGCXN-MACQUART FAMILY, 159 

but happy. It seemed to him altogether natural that he 
should be taken care of and indulged. He also fre- 
quently narrated his amorous escapades before his son, 
who would listen with eager, hungry eyes. The children 
never rebelled, because they had always been accustomed 
to seeing their mother the humble servant of her 
husband. 

Fine continued to tremble before him — although she 
had plenty of common sense — and allowed him to tyrannize 
over the household. He carried oif every night all the 
money she earned during the day, without her daring to 
reproach him. Sometimes, when he had drank in ad- 
vance the money of the whole week, he reproached her as 
a stupid thing, who had no faculty in the management of 
her affairs. 

Fine, with lamb-like sweetness, replied in that tiny 
voice which produced such a quaint effect issuing from her 
enormous frame, “that she was no longer young, and that 
money was hard to get!” As a consolation for her 
husband’s injustice, she bought a gallon of Anisette, which 
she drank in the evening with her daughter, while Antoine 
was at the Cafe, and after Jean had gone to bed. The 
two women listened acutely, ready to hide the bottle and 
the glasses at the smallest sound. Sometimes Macquart 
would return very late, and — tipsy himself — would look 
at wife and daughter, with a vague smile. A bright color 
suffused the girl’s pale, delicate face, and nothing could be 
more heart-breaking than the sight of this frail creature, 
with that drunken smile on her lips. Sometimes Jean 


160 THE EOUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

would be compelled to rise and separate his mother from 
his father, so fiercely did they quarrel, and carry his 
sister to her bed. 

Each political party has its grotesque and unprincipled 
adherents. Antoine Macquart, devoured by envy and 
hate, longing for vengeance for fancied wrongs, desired 
for a Republic as an era when he could fill his pockets 
from his neighbor’s cash-box, and even strangle that neigh- 
bor should he venture to show the smallest discontent. 
His constant study of the newspapers, his visits to the 
Caf§, had filled his mind with the strangest possible theo- 
ries. One must have heard a wandering radical who had 
badly digested his reading, talk by the hour together, to 
have any idea of the point to which Macquart had arrived. 
As he talked a great deal and boasted much of having 
been a soldier, he was naturally surrounded by gaping 
hearers. Without being the chief of any party, he had 
gathered about him a small band of workmen who accepted 
his bombastic fury as honest convictions. 

In February he walked about Plassans much as if the 
town belonged to him. He had grown insufferably in- 
solent, and impressed his importance so strongly on the 
mind of the proprietor of the Caf6, that he did not even 
dare ask for the payment of a bill that had assumed 
formidable proportions. He drank an enormous number 
of “demi-tasses” about this time, occasionally invited 
his friends to drink with him, and orated for hours to- 
gether, on the text that the people were dying of hunger, 
and that the rich ought to divide their hoards. This 


THE EOU GON-M ACQUART FAMILY. 161 

came well from a man who never in his life had given a 
sou to a poor man. 

He was the more impelled to fierce Republicanism from 
his desire to revenge himself on the Rougons. Ah ! what 
joy would be his if some day he could hold F6licite and 
Pierre at his mercy I Although these last had not been 
over prosperous, they had become Bourgeois while he re- 
mained a working-man. This exasperated him, and to 
add to his mortification, one of their sons was a lawyer — 
another a physician, and a third an employe under govern- 
ment; while he, Macquart, was still a common working- 
man! He was also mortified at the idea that his wife 
should sell chestnuts in the Market, and repair all the 
greasy old chairs in the Quartier. Pierre was his brother — 
why should he be so much better off than himself? Had 
he not stolen his money ? 

“No!” he would exclaim loudly, “my brother ought to 
be in a convict’s cell this very day ! ” 

This hatred increased as he saw the influence the 
Rougons were gradually acquiring. He called the yellow 
salon a nest of conspirators and vipers, who met each even- 
ing to devise plans by which they could plunder the people. 
He declared that his brother was not so poor as he pre- 
tended, and that he hid his wealth because he was afraid 
of robbers. He concealed his personal enmity under the 
veil of the purest patriotism. 

F6licite would gladly have silenced Macquart with 
money, if she could have done so; but, alas! money was 
not over-plentiful with her. Antoine was a constant 


162 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY; 

mortification and reproach to her. She felt that all her 
new friends scorned her for being allied to such a man, and 
she asked herself, with increasing agony, how she could 
ever wash away this stain. She trembled for the success 
of their plans, which this man could frustrate at pleasure. 

Antoine did his best to exasperate and annoy these 
people. At the Cafe he spoke of Pierre as “ his brother ; ” — 
in the street, if he chanced to meet one of the frequenters 
of the yellow salon, he would utter such opprobrious epi- 
thets that the victim, horrified at this audacity, would 
repeat them the same night to the Pougons with the air 
of holding them accountable for the insult. 

One evening Granoux came in, utterly furious. 

“Upon my word,” he cried, “this is too much!” and 
turning to Pierre he added: 

“A man with a brother like yours should find some way 
of suppressing him. I was crossing the square quietly 
when the fellow passed me and uttered a few words under 
his breath. I distinctly heard him say ‘old rascal P” 

Felicity sought to soothe the perturbed spirits of her 
guest, but all in vain. The Marquis came to her 
assistance. 

“It is certainly very strange,” he said. “Why should 
this person have called you old rascal ? Are you certain 
the insult was addressed to you?” 

Granoux looked puzzled, and finally it was decided that 
Antoine had said : 

“You are going to that old rascal's.” 

The Marquis caressed his chin, with a sly smile, and 
Rougon said, coolly: 


THE ROUGON-MACQUAItT FAMILY. 163 

“To be sure, I was the person of whom he spoke. I 
am thankful that it is explained, and I have only to beg, 
gentlemen, that you will avoid this person with the great- 
est care. I have long since renounced him formally .” 

But Felicite did not take things quite so coolly. Each 
one of Macquart’s outbreaks made her perfectly ill. 

Some months before the Coup d’Etat the Rougons re- 
ceived an anonymous letter — three pages of coarse accusa- 
tions and insults. This letter threatened, that if his party 
triumphed, the whole story of the disgraceful loves of 
Adelaide, and the theft committed by Pierre, in com- 
pelling her to sign a receipt of fifty thousand francs, 
should be published in the morning journals. This letter 
was a great blow to Rougon, while Felicit6 could not 
refrain from a few sarcastic words in regard to his family. 

“We must at all costs get rid of this fellow,” said 
Pierre, gloomily, for he was quite sure that the letter was 
Antoine’s handiwork. 

In the meantime Antoine had counted on making an 
accomplice of Aristide, but the young man, although 
blinded by rage and jealousy, was not quite foolish enough 
to make common cause with a man like his uncle, and 
kept him at a distance. Macquart, therefore, had only 
the children of his sister Ursule to whom to turn. 

Ursule herself had died in 1859, thus fulfilling her 
brother’s sinister prophecy. The nervous attack of her 
mother had developed in her in the form of slow con- 
sumption. She left three children : a daughter of eighteen, 
HdlSne, the wife of an employ^, and two boys, Francois, 


164 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


a young man of twenty-three, and a little fellow of six, 
named SilvSre. His wife’s death, whom he adored, was 
to Mouret an overwhelming blow. He struggled against it 
for a year, indifferent to his business and daily losing the 
money he had made with so much difficulty. Then, one 
fine morning, he was found dead in a closet where Ursule’s 
dresses still hung against the wall. His eldest son entered 
his Uncle Rougon’s employment as clerk. 

Rougon gladly received his nephew, whom he knew to 
be sober and hard-working. He felt the need of some 
person on whose fidelity he could rely. Besides, he had 
watched the career of this Mouret, and, learning to respect 
him, had come to terms with his sister. Perhaps, too, he 
wished to offer some compensation to Francis, whose 
mother he had robbed. While he soothed his conscience 
by giving employment to his nephew, he also did a very 
good thing for himself, for he found precisely the aid he 
required. If at this time the Rougon establishment was 
not prosperous, it was not the fault of this youth, who 
spent his life behind the counter, between a jar of oil and 
a bundle of dry cod-fish. 

He was very like his mother, physically, but he in- 
herited his father’s honest but narrow mind, and was by 
nature regular and methodical in all his ways. 

Three months after he entered his uncle’s employ- 
ment, his uncle, in the same spirit of compensation, gave 
him his daughter Marthe — his youngest daughter, of 
whom he did not know precisely how to dispose. The 
two young persons fell in love with each other. A singular 


the eougon-macquart family. 


165 


circumstance undoubtedly drew them together; they were 
Avonderfully like each other — any one would have taken 
them for brother and sister. 

Frangois was singularly like his grandmother. Marthe 
was quite as much so, although her father, Pierre 
Rougon, bore not the smallest likeness to his mother; the 
physical likeness had overleaped the son to re-appear again 
in his child. But the resemblance between these young 
people went no further than their faces. Frangois was the 
worthy son of the hatter, Mouret — steady, and even a little 
heavy. Marthe had all the unsettled, nervous ways of her 
grandmother, whom she startlingly resembled. Perhaps 
it was this physical likeness and their mental and moral 
dissimilarity which attracted them toward each other. 

In four years they had three children. Frangois re- 
mained with his uncle until the latter retired, when the 
young man went to Marseilles to establish himself in 
business. t 

Macquart saw that it was of no use to attempt to drag 
into his campaign against the Rougons this hard-working 
youth; but he fancied he had discovered an accomplice 
ready to his hand in Mouret’s second son, Silvere, then a 
boy of fifteen, who was but six when his father was found 
hanging among his mother's dresses. His elder brother 
was at a loss what to do with him, and took him to his 
uncle, who made a wry face on seeing him, as he had not 
intended to go so far with his compensations as to receive 
another mouth to fill. 

Silvere grew up in this ungenial atmosphere, for he was 


166 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

no more welcome to F6licit6 than to Pierre, when his 
grandmother, on one of her rare visits, took compassion on 
him, and carried him away with her. Pierre was delighted, 
but said nothing of increasing the allowance he made 
Adelaide, and which henceforth must serve for two. 

Adelaide was now over seventy. She had grown old in 
that damp and dreary solitude, Saint-Mittre, where she lived 
on vegetables, and from which she did not emerge twice in 
the month. She looked like a nun, with her soft white- 
ness and automatic walk, whom the cloister has totally 
separated from the world. 

Her pale face, always rigidly framed in a white coif, was 
like the face of a dying woman — a masque characterized 
by profound indifference. Habits of unbroken silence had 
made her absolutely mute. The gray shadows of her home, 
and the constant sight of the same objects, had softened her 
eyes, and given to them a crystal-like clearness. 

It was a slow mofal and physical death, which had 
transformed the half-insane and amorous girl into the grave 
matron. When her eyes were fixed on some distant object, 
looking without seeing, it was plain that behind those eyes 
lay a great emptiness. Nothing remained of the past but 
the smoothness of her skin and the slenderness of her 
hands, trembling with senile weakness. Her poor, worn- 
out frame was as frail as a dead leaf. 

After Macquart’s death — the man so necessary to her 
life — the necessity of loving had burned within her, devour- 
ing her with heat and flames; and yet she had never 
dreamed of yielding to her unappeased desires. A life 


THE EOUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 167 

of shame would perhaps have left her less exhausted, 
than this unassuaged longing, which modified her whole 
organism. 

Sometimes this corpse, this aged pale face, wherein seemed 
to be not one drop of blood, was shaken by a nervous 
attack, which sharpened all her faculties once more, and 
restored her to an intensity of life. She lay on her bed 
rigid, with eyes wide open, and then would be suddenly 
convulsed. Her strength was terrific on these occasions, 
and it was necessary to tie her securely, that she might not 
hurt her head against the wall. These attacks shook in a 
piteous way her poor, emaciated frame. It was as if all 
her youthful passions had returned and rebelled against 
the coldness of her years. 

When she was able to totter about again, the old gossips 
would look at her with a sneer and say : 

“ The old mad woman has been drinking.” 

The childish smile of little Silvere was warmth to her 
half-frozen form. She had asked for the child because 
she was weary of solitude, and trembled lest she should die 
alone. This child-life in the house seemed her best security 
against death. Without becoming in any way demonstra- 
tive, she silently devoted herself to him with ineffable 
tenderness. 

She watched him all day long, listening with ravished 
ears to the insufferable noise with which he filled the 
whole house. 

The tomb-like place reverberated when Silv&re rode over 
it upon a stick, shouting and hallooing. She busied 


168 THE ROUGON-M ACQTJ ART FAMILY* 

herself over him with adorable awkwardness, she who, in 
her youth, had forgotten to be a mother, for her lover’s 
sake, now washed and dressed this child, and guarded his 
frail existence with unwearying care. This love was the 
best and last gift, compassionate Heaven had bestowed on 
this crushed and weary heart, tortured for years by the 
keenest desires, and now dying slowly, absorbed in this 
affection for a child. 

She had not life enough left in her to love the boy with 
the demonstrative affection of hearty, kind old grand- 
mothers. Sometimes she took him on her knees and 
looked earnestly into his blue eyes, and when he — terrified 
by her pale face and steady stare — burst into sobs, she 
seemed to be confused and troubled, and would put him 
down without kissing him. 

Did she think him like the smuggler Macquart? 

Who can tell ? 

Silv^re grew up in this solitude. He called Adelaide 
“Aunt Dide.” The name of Aunt in Provence is a mere 
term of affection applied indiscriminately. The child 
loved his grandmother with a tenderness mingled with 
respectful terror. When he first went to her, and 
she had one of her nervous attacks, he would run away 
and hide in horror at her convulsed countenance. But 
later, when he was twelve years old, he watched over her 
courageously, preventing her from falling from the bed, 
and held her, sometimes for hours, tightly in his arms 
with the vain hope of controlling the spasms that con- 
tracted her limbs, looking all the while down upon the 


THE ROTJGON-M ACQU ART FAMILY. 169 

piteous face and the emaciated body revealed by the 
clinging garments. 

This ever-recurring tragedy — the old woman rigid and 
immovable as a corpse, the child leaning over her, watch- 
ing for the return of life — was a strange and dreary sight. 
When Aunt Dide came to herself, she would rise with 
difficulty, straighten out her clothing, and move about the 
house. She never remembered what had taken place, and 
the boy from instinct never made any allusion to the 
painful scenes, which were, however, precisely what at- 
tached the child most strongly to his grandmother, whom 
he adored in the same shamefaced way in which she wor- 
shipped him. He was grateful to her for having taken 
him, and regarded her as a mysterious creature, the victim 
of some strange malady, whom he must pity and respect. 

The two lived thus in a sad silence which concealed the 
warmest affection. 

These melancholy surroundings imparted to Silv£re, as 
he grew up, great strength of character and much enthu- 
siasm. He was serious and contemplative; eager for 
instruction. He learned a little orthography and arith- 
metic at the Brothers’ school, which he left at twelve years 
of age when he was apprenticed to a trade. But, as 
he read every volume he came across, his mental furni- 
ture was a 6trange mixture. He knew a great deal about 
many things, but he could not classify his knowledge, or 
arrange it so that he could get at it. 

When very young he was in the habit of playing a 
great deal with a good-natured wheelwright, named Vian, 


170 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

whose work-shop was close by. The boy would climb on 
the wheels of the wagons that were brought there for 
repair, and try to use the heavy tools which his small 
hsnds could hardly lift. One of his greatest pleasures 
was to help the workmen by bringing them pieces of wood 
which they chanced to need ; and when he was older he 
naturally wished to become the apprentice of Vian, who 
had taken a great fancy to this little fellow, who had 
grown up, as it were, under his heels. Vian asked 
Adelaide to send him the boy. Silv&re accepted the offer 
joyously, hoping that the day was not far off when he 
could repay to poor Aunt Dide the money she had 
expended for him. He became an excellent workman in 
a very short time. 

But his ambition soared higher. He had seen at a 
carriage-maker’s in Plassans a beautiful new caliche glit- 
tering with varnish, and said to himself that some day he 
would build carriages like that. This caleche remained in 
his mind as an ideal toward which all his aspirations rose. 
The wagons on which he labored at Vian’s struck him as 
unworthy of his tenderness. He frequented the School of 
Design, where he made the acquaintance of a young col- 
legian, who lent him a dilapidated treatise on Geometry. 
He became engrossed in this study, and spent weeks in try- 
ing to comprehend the simplest things in the W'orld. In 
this w r ay he became one of that very small number of 
workmen who can sign their names, and who speak famil- 
iarly of Algebra. 

Nothing is so likely to unsettle and lead a mind astray 


THE EOUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 171 

as instruction like this, built of broken reeds, without any 
solid foundation. 

Such scraps and crumbs often give the most absolutely 
false ideas of the great sciences, and render those who have 
amassed them perfectly intolerable. But with SilvSre this 
stolen knowledge only increased his thirst for more. He 
had a full appreciation of the broad horizons which were 
as yet closed to him, and he lived enwrapped in the most 
innocent adoration of the thoughts and great words toward 
which he longingly strove, all ignorant as he was, of their 
full significance. 

His ignorance and faith were almost painful to witness 
as he knelt on the threshold of the Temple, accepting the 
candles which burned afar off for veritable stars. 

The house in which SilvSre and Aunt Dide dwelt, con- 
sisted of a large room into which opened the street door; 
this room, which was paved, served both as kitchen and 
dining-room, and had as furniture only straw chairs, a table 
on trestles, and a large box which Adelaide had transformed 
into a sofa, by throwing over the lid a ragged woollen cover. 
In one corner, at the left of a huge chimney, stood a Holy 
Virgin in plaster, surrounded by artificial flowers — the 
traditional Holy Mother, which is to be found in all the 
Provengal houses, whether its inmates be irreligious or 
otherwise. A long corridor led to the little courtyard be- 
hind the house, and to the well on the left of the corridor 
was Aunt Dide’s room, small, and containing an iron bed- 
stead and one chair. On the right, in a still smaller room, 
was SilvSre’s bed and a series of shelves which he had built 


172 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

from floor to ceiling, to hold his dear books which he had 
picked up at the second-hand stalls in the neighborhood. 
He read at night, with his lamp fastened by a nail to the 
head of his bed, and, if his grandmother were taken ill, he 
was at her side at the first sound. 

The life led by the young man differed little from the 
life of the boy. He had all his father’s repugnance to 
wine-shops and Sunday dissipation. His comrades dis- 
gusted him by their brutal pleasures. He preferred to 
read and to puzzle his brain oyer some simple problem in 
Geometry. Aunt Dide now intrusted to him all her com- 
missions, and never went out doors herself. 

The young man’s heart sometimes ached with pity for 
her, as he saw her living within a stone’s throw of her chil- 
dren, and yet as totally abandoned by them as if she were 
dead. If at times he had a vague consciousness that Aunt 
Dide was expiating old faults, he said to himself: “All the 
more reason then for me to love her, and to forgive her.” 

Republican ideas are the natural outgrowth of a nature 
like this. Silvere read and re-read a volume of Rousseau, 
which he had found on a book-stall. That dream of uni- 
versal happiness, so precious to the unfortunate, the words 
“Liberty, Equality, Fraternity,” rang in his ears with the 
sonorous sound of bells calling the faithful to their knees. 
When he learned that the Republic had been proclaimed 
in France, he at once believed that every one was to be 
supremely happy. 

His semi-instruction allowed him to see further than the 
other workmen, and his aspirations did not stop at his daily 


THE EOU G ON-M ACQUART FAMILY. 


173 


bread. His complete ignorance of men and things retained 
him in this Eden for some time, and when he saw that all 
was not going as smoothly as he had hoped in his ideal 
Republic, he was greatly pained. Each act which seemed 
to strike at the interests of 
hottest indignation. 

Gentle as a child, his political hatreds were absolutely 
ferocious. He who would not have killed a fly, talked of 
shouldering a musket. 

Liberty was his passion — an unreasoning, absolute pas- 
sion into which he put all his energy. Both too ignorant 
and too well instructed to be tolerant, he dreamed of an 
ideal government of absolute justice and absolute liberty. 
It was at this time that his uncle, Macquart, wished to 
influence him. 

Antoine said to himself that this young simpleton would 
be a bad enemy to manage if he could exasperate him 
sufficiently, and did his best to ingratiate himself with Sil- 
vere, for whose ideas he professed the warmest admiration. 
He had a way, too, of regarding the triumph of the Re- 
public as the inauguration of happy days for all persons, 
which flattered the moral aspirations of his nephew, and 
before long the two men met several times in the week. 
Antoine endeavored to persuade the young man that the 
Rougon salon was the principal obstacle to the happiness 
of France, but he made a great mistake when he called his 
mother “that old wretch,” and then narrated the scandal 
of her life. Silvere, red with shame, listened quietly, 
crushed by this melancholy and unsolicited confidence; 

11 


the people excited in him the 


174 THE EOUGON-MACQUAET FAMILY. 

but from this day forth he treated his grandmother with 
greater tenderness and deference than before. 

Macquart soon realized the blunder he had made, but at- 
tempted to utilize it by saying that to Pierre Kougon was 
due all Adelaide’s poverty and isolation. To hear him talk 
one would suppose him to have been always the best of 
sons, and that his brother’s conduct alone had been dis- 
graceful and cruel. Silvere therefore became very indignant 
with his Uncle Pierre, to Antoine’s great contentment. 

At each of Silvere’s visits the same scenes were repeated. 
He generally came in at night while the Macquart family 
were dining. Antoine swallowed his potatoes, grumbling 
alt the time. 

“ You see, Silvere,” he muttered, with a dull rage that 
he but indifferently concealed, “ we have nothing but po- 
tatoes to eat. We are not rich enough for meat, which is 
only for the wealthy. It is impossible to make both ends 
meet with children who eat like the devil !” 

Gervaise and Jean cast down their eyes, and did not dare 
to touch the loaf again. Silvere, who lived half the time 
in the sky, did not grasp the position of things, and uttered 
in a calm voice, these words which were big with a 
tempest: 

“ But, uncle, you ought to work.” 

“Oh! yes,” sneered Macquart, keenly sensitive to this 
touch on his open wound; “oh! yes; you want me to 
work, do you? You want these rich people to speculate 
on me, do you? You want me to work for twenty sous, I 
suppose.” 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 175 

“Twenty sons are twenty sous, you know; and even a 
little helps in a house. But why don’t you go into some 
business? You, as an old soldier, could easily find 
something to do.” 

Fine here interfered with a heedlessness of which she 
soon repented. 

“That is just what I tell him everyday,” she cried; 
“and the Inspector of the Market wants an assistant. I 
spoke to him of my husband, and he is well disposed to- 
ward us.” 

Macquart interrupted her. 

“ Hold your tongue,” he said, brutally. “ These women 
never know what they say. They would not appoint me. 
They know my opinions too well.” 

Antoine refused every position that w r as offered, alleging 
the most singular reasons, and when any one argued with 
him he became perfectly terrible. 

If Jean, after dinner, took up a newspaper, his father 
would say: 

“ You had much better go to bed. To-morrow you will 
be up late, and lose your day. Just think of your bringing 
me eight francs less than you ought last week ! But I will 
settle that. I have told your master never to pay you, 
and that I will call in person for the money.” 

Jean went to bed to escape from his father’s recrimi- 
nations. He sympathized little with Silvere. Politics 
wearied him, and he thought his cousin something of 
a prig. 

When the table was cleared away, and the two women 
talked apart in low voices, Macquart would exclaim : 


176 TIIE EOUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

“ Well ! Upon my word ! Is there nothing to mend 
here ? We are all in rags, and yet you sit idle. Listen, 
Gervaise, I have been to see your mistress, and she has 
little to say that is good of you.” 

Gervaise, who was twenty, colored at being reproved in 
this way before Silvere, who was never comfortable in her 
presence since one night, when coming in late, he had 
found mother and daughter both dead-drunk, with an 
empty bottle in front of them. From that hour he never 
saw his cousin without remembering this shameful spec- 
tacle. He was also repelled by the stories he had heard 
about her. Innocent as a girl himself, he looked at her 
stealthily with vague astonishment. 

When the two women took up their needles and began 
to repair their old garments, Macquart leaned back lux- 
uriously on the best seat, sipping his coffee and smoking. 
This was the hour generally selected by the old rascal to 
accuse the rich of living on the sweat of the poor. He 
raged magnificently against those gentlemen in La Ville 
Neuve who lived in idleness, and were supported by the 
labor of the lower classes. The distorted notions he had 
acquired from the newspapers of that same morning be- 
came grotesque and more monstrous stiil, as they passed 
through his lips. He talked fluently of a time not far 
off when no one would be compelled to work. He re- 
served for the Rougons the most furious, bitter hate. He 
had not quite digested the potatoes he had eaten. 

“ I saw that conceited fool, F6licit6,” he said, “ buying 
a chicken in the market. These robbers eat chickens, you 


THE liOUG OX-MACQUART FAMILY. 177 

“Aunt Dide,” replied Silv&re, “says that Uncle Pierre 
was very kind to you when you first came back. Did he 
not expend quite a large sum for you at that time?” 

“A large sum!” howled Antoine, angrily. “Your 
grandmother is crazy ! I never had anything from those 
brigands ! ” 

Fine again interfered, and reminded her husband that 
he had had a complete outfit of clothes, a year’s lodg- 
ing, and two hundred francs in cash. Antoine bade her 
hold her peace, and continued with fast increasing anger: 

“Two hundred francs! That is a large amount, in- 
deed! I was entitled to ten thousand! We must on no 
account forget the bone they threw to the dog, nor the old 
coat which Pierre gave me because it was too ragged and 
dirty for him to wear again.” 

He lied ; but no one dared contradict him. He turned 
to Silvere: 

“You are very simple to defend them,” he said. “They 
robbed your mother, who would be alive to-day had she 
had money enough to be properly taken care of.” 

“No, uncle, you are unjust. My mother died from no 
lack of care, and I know that my father would never have 
accepted a cent from his wife’s family.” 

“ Nonsense ! Your father would have taken the money 
just as any other man would have done. We, too, have 
been pillaged, and we ought to join forces : ” and Mac- 
quart began for the fiftieth time to tell the story of the 
fifty thousand francs. His nephew knew it by heart, and 
listened with some impatience. 


178 THE EOUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

“If you were a man/’ said Antoine, as he finished, 
“you would go some day with me, and we would make a 
nice row at the Rougon mansion. We would not go out 
until they gave us the money.” 

But Silvere became very grave, and replied in a stern 
voice : 

“If these people have robbed us, so much the worse 
for them. I do not want their money. Do you not see, 
uncle, that it is not for us to strike at one of our own 
family? If they have done wrong, their punishment is 
sure to come, sooner or later.” 

“What an utter simpleton you are!” cried his uncle. 
“Do you suppose that God cares what becomes of us? 
We are a most miserable set, and there is not a member of 
our family who would throw me a crust of bread if I were 
starving.” 

Gervaise here said, timidly: 

“ But, papa, Cousin Pascal was very good to you last 
winter when you were ill.” 

“ He took care of you without ever asking a sou,” added 
Fine, coming to her daughter’s assistance ; “ and many a 
time did he give me a five franc piece to provide you with 
a good soup.” 

“Indeed! I should have died,” answered Macquart, 
“if I had not had a good constitution. Hold your 
tongue, you silly creatures! They all wish to see me 
dead ! If I am ever ill again, I will thank you not to 
send for my nephew, for I am none too much at my ease 
when I know myself to be in his hands. He has no 


THE EOUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 179 

practice whatever ; and as for that Aristide, he is a little 
viper. You will see some day how readily he will turn 
his coat ; and there is Eugene, whom they pretend has such 
a distinguished position in Paris. I know all about it ! He 
is an employ^ in La Pue de Jerusalem. He is a spy.” 

" Who told you so ? ” asked Silv&re, whose upright 
nature was deeply wounded by his uncle’s lying accu- 
sations. 

“ I don’t know who told me, but it is true all the same. 
He is a spy. As for you, you stand like a sheep in the 
hands of the shearer. You are no man at all ! I do not 
wish to say any evil of your brother Francois; but were I 
in your place, I should not be over pleased with the man- 
ner in which he has behaved. He makes a great deal of 
money at Marseilles, and has never sent you a sou. If 
you should be starving some day, I advise you never to 
turn to him — ” 

“ I hope I shall never need to turn to any one,” answered 
the young man, proudly. “ My work keeps my aunt and 
myself in comfort. You are very cruel, uncle.” 

u Yo, I am not cruel. I only tell you the truth, for 
your eyes ought to be opened. Our family are a miser- 
able set — this is the truth, even down to Maxime, 
Aristide’s little son, who is only nine years old, and yet 
sticks out his tongue at me when we meet in the street. 
That child will beat his mother some day, and I shall be 
glad of it !” 

All the dirty linen washed so complacently by Macquart 
before his nephew, was a heavy burthen to the young man ; 


180 


THE EOUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


but Antoine did his best to exasperate him against all his 
relatives. 

“Oh, yes, defend them,” he cried. “I am telling you 
all this, so that you can the better protect my poor mother, 
who has been treated by all these people in the most out- 
rageous manner. You know nothing about it. The 
Rougons have forbidden Aristide’s boy to say good-morn- 
ing to the old lady, and F6licit6 talks of placing her in a 
lunatic asylum.” 

The young man turned very pale. 

“Enough!” he cried; “not another word. I cannot 
bear it.” 

“Well, well; I will say no more, if it annoys you,” 
replied the old rascal, with an affectation of kindness. 
“There are other things which you ought to know, never- 
theless; unless you wish to play the part of a fool, and be 
always imposed upon.” 

Macquart hoped to incite Silvdre against the Rougons, 
and also enjoyed the most exquisite pleasure in bringing 
tears to the eyes of the young man, whom he heartily dis- 
liked, probably because he was a good workman and indus- 
trious. He used all his ingenuity to invent the most 
atrocious falsehoods, which should strike to the heart of the 
young man. Antoine gloated over his pallor and trembling 
lips, and when he had exhausted himself, he took up politics. 

“The Rougons are preparing a master-blow,” he said. 

“What do you mean?” asked Silvere. 

“I mean that they are arranging a plan by which they 
are to seize, one of these nights, all the good citizens and 
place them in prison.” 


THE KOUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


181 


The young man ventured to express a doubt, but his 
uncle gave all the details with precision — told of the long 
lists and of the names upon these lists, and by degrees 
Silvere credited this old woman’s tale, and raged in his turn 
against the enemies of the Republic. 

“ These are the people whom we ought to render powerless, 
if we wish to save the country. But what do they intend 
to do with the citizens they arrest?” 

“What do they intend to do with them!” answered 
Macquart, with a laugh. “ They mean to shoot them in 
their dungeons.” 

Silvere, stupefied with horror, glared at his uncle in 
silence. 

“And these will not be the first they have assassinated 
either. You have only to go out any night behind the 
prison, and you will hear the shots and the groans.” 

The two men sat and talked until after midnight, while 
the women crept quietly off to bed. It was a strange con- 
versation, during which the uncle drank innumerable 
glasses of brandy, and from which the nephew rose intox- 
icated also, but only with enthusiasm. Antoine could 
obtain from the young Republican no positive promise. 
The youth would only say that Eternal Justice would have 
its way sooner or later, and punish the wicked. 

The youth talked, to be sure, vaguely, of bearing arms 
against the enemies of the Republic ; but as soon as his 
uncle personified these enemies, in his Uncle Pierre or 
other persons of his acquaintance, he drew back in horror. 
Nevertheless, Antoine had over his life a very powerful 


182 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

influence. He irritated his nerves by his constant diatribes, 
and ended by inducing him to look forward to happiness 
as only to be obtained by armed violence. 

When Silv&re was sixteen, Macquart initiated him into 
the secret society of the Montagnards, that powerful asso- 
ciation of the South. And from that moment the young 
Republican coveted the smuggler’s carabine, which Ade- 
laide had hung over her mantel. One night, when his 
grandmother was asleep, he cleaned it and then hung it 
again on its nail and waited. He rocked himself with the 
most fanciful hopes — dreamed of Homeric contests and 
chivalric engagements from which the defenders of Liber fy 
should emerge conquerors, and receive the applause of 
the world. 

Macquart was not discouraged. He said that he would 
strangle the Rougons if ever he got them cornered. About 
this time he saw himself compelled to go to work, for in 
1850, Fine died suddenly of a congestion of the lungs, 
which she caught by going to wash the family linen in the 
Viorne, and bringing it home wet on her shoulders. Her 
death appalled Macquart, for with her perished his income. 
When, at the end of a few days, he sold the furnace over 
which his wife cooked her chestnuts, and the trestle she 
used in mending the straw chairs, he burst out in angry 
reproaches against Heaven, for having taken away the 
good woman, of whom, during her life, he had been 
heartily ashamed, and who now he would so gladly have 
brought back. 

He now was more eager than ever that his children 


THE ROUGOX-MACQUART FAMILY. 


183 


should pass no idle moments. A month later however, 
Gervaise, wearied by his continual exactions, went away 
with her two children and Lantier. They went to Paris. 
Antoine swore about his daughter from morning until 
night, and prayed that she would die in a hospital. 

Before long Jean followed his sister’s example. He 
waited for pay-day, and managed to get hold of his own 
money, and then said to one of his friends, who repeated 
it to Antoine, that he would no longer take care of his 
father, who never lifted a finger for himself. 

The next day Antoine was alone, without a sou, in the 
rooms where for twenty years he had lived in such exceed- 
ing comfort. At first he was furiously angry, and broke 
everything, but at last became almost sick in his fear 
of work. When SilvAre came to see him, he complained, 
with tears, of the ingratitude of children. Had he not 
always been a good father? Jean and Gervaise were 
monsters of ingratitude — they abandoned him now because 
he was old and they could get no more from him. 

"But, uncle,” said Silv&re, "you are still able to work.” 

Macquart coughed and said feebly, that he for a long 
time had been unable to endure the smallest fatigue; and 
when his nephew went away he borrowed ten francs of 
him. For a month Antoine lived on the articles which 
he carried daily to be sold, and soon only one table, a chair 
and his bed were all that was left. 

When he was at the end of all his resources, with the 
pallor of a man who is about to commit suicide, he pulled 
out the bundle of osier which had lain undisturbed for 


184 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


a quarter of a century. He lifted it as if it weighed tons. 
He began to braid baskets, and was more incendiary in 
his discourse than ever before. He spoke of all the rich 
men in the town with the most abusive epithets. But 
Antoine never worked when he could extract any money 
from Silvere or a comrade. He was no longer “ Monsieur ” 
Macquart, the workman, who, carefully dressed and shaved, 
played at being a gentleman, but he became once more 
the dirty devil who had formerly speculated on his 
rags with such good results. Now that he was to be 
seen daily at Market, selling his baskets, F6licit6 actually 
did not dare go there. He once mortified her by a terrible 
scene. 

As maybe supposed, Macquart welcomed the Coup d’fitat 
with the noisy joy of a dog who scents his prey; but, as 
for a few days Plassans was undisturbed, Antoine thought 
his plans would all fail, and not until he heard of the 
risings all over the country did he hope again. In the 
evening he was with some of the faithful in a wine-shop 
in the old Quartier when a comrade rushed in, to say that 
the Insurgents were but a few kilometres distant. A shout 
of triumph rang through the room. Macquart himself 
was almost delirious with enthusiasm. The unexpected 
arrival of the Insurgents seemed to him a delicate attention 
of Providence toward himself, and his hands trembled at 
the thought that he would soon hold the Rougons in his 
grasp. 

Meanwhile Antoine and his friends hurried from the 
cafe. All the Republicans who had not already left 


THE EOUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


185 


Plassans were on the Square. This was the band which 
Rougon had seen as he ran to conceal himself at his 
mother’s. When the band reached the Rue de Banne, 
Macquart made four of his especial friends linger a little 
in the rear. He persuaded them that they should at once 
arrest the enemies of the Republic, if they hoped to avoid 
great misfortunes; the truth was, he feared lest Pierre 
should make his escape, after all. The four men followed 
him meekly, and they all knocked at Rougon’s door. 
Felicite’s courage at this time was most admirable. She 
opened the street-door. 

“ We wish to come in,” said Macquart, roughly. 

“By all means, gentlemen,” she said, with sarcastic 
politeness, pretending not to 'recognize her brother-in-law. 

When Macquart stood in the yellow salon, he bade her 
call her husband. 

“My husband is not here,” she said, calmly. “He is 
travelling on business. He took the Diligence for Mar- 
seilles at six o’clock this evening.” 

Antoine, at this statement, uttered an angry exclama- 
tion. He passed into the bed-room, looked under the 
bed and behind the curtains, his friends lending their 
cheerful assistance. For a quarter of an hour they 
searched the rooms. Felicity, quietly seated on the sofa 
in the salon, was busy fastening her skirts, as if she 
had been hastily awakened, and had not time to dress 
properly. 

“ It is true ! The coward has run away ! ” cried Mac- 
quart, looking about, however, suspiciously as he spoke. 


186 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

He felt almost certain that Pierre could not have 
abandoned the ground at this decisive moment. He went 
up to Felicite, who opened her mouth with a prodigious 
yawn. 

“ Tell us instantly where your husband is concealed/’ 
he said. “I assure you we will do him no harm.” 

“ I have told you the truth,” she answered, impatiently. 
“ I cannot give my husband into your hands, for he is 
not here. You have looked for yourselves, have you not? 
Then, pray, go and leave me in peace.” 

Macquart, exasperated by her coolness, would certainly 
have struck her had not a great uproar been heard from 
the street. It was the Insurgents sweeping up La Rue de 
Banne. 

Macquart shook his fist at his sister-in-law as he left 
the salon, and at the foot of the stairs, he bade one of his 
companions sit down on the lowest step and not move 
until a new order. 

“You will come to me at once, however, if you see 
Rougon return.” 

The man obeyed, and dropped heavily on the stairs. 
When he was on the sidewalk, Macquart lifted his eyes 
and beheld Felicite leaning out of the window, watching 
the Insurgents as if they had been a regiment marching to 
music. This last indication of tranquillity was more than 
he could bear, and he felt as if he must go back and pitch 
the old woman into the street. He looked up at her, and 
said between his teeth : 

“ Yes, look at us ! we will see how you will feel about 
it to-morrow.” 


THE EOUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 187 

It was about eleven when the Insurgents entered the 
town through the Homan gate, which was thrown open 
to them by the Republicans, notwithstanding the lamen- 
tations of the porter, from whom they tore the keys by 
force. 

At the head of the column marched the citizens of 
Plassans, guiding the others — Miette bearing the flag all 
the more boldly, that she felt that frightened eyes were 
watching her behind the closed blinds. The Insurgents 
moved with considerable caution, fearing to be received 
with a discharge of musketry, although they well knew 
the calm disposition of the people. But the town .seemed 
dead. There was hardly a sound. Only five or six 
shutters were open, and at one stood an old man with a 
candle in his hand. As soon as he caught sight of this 
girl all in scarlet, appearing to draw after her this crowd 
of black demons, he shut his window in fear and trem- 
bling, terrified at the diabolical sight. The silence of the 
sleeping town tranquillized the Insurgents, who finally 
reached the Market Place, which was brightly lighted by 
the moon. The Hotel de Ville, freshly restored, was a 
mass of dead white, on which the balcony of the first floor 
was defined by slender black lines of wrought iron. 
Several persons stood on the balcony: the Mayor, Com- 
mandant Secardot, three or four Municipal Counsellors, 
and other functionaries. Three thousand Republicans 
filling the Square stood ready to burst open the closed 
doors. 

The Commandant had found time to slip into his 


188 


THE ROU G ON -M ACQU ART FAMILY. 


uniform before he awakened the Mayor, and in five 
minutes after they were both on the balcony. They heard 
the approach of the Insurgents. 

Secardot wished to fight. He insisted that twenty 
men were enough to bring this canaille to reason, but the 
Mayor shrugged his shoulders, and declared that the only 
thing to do was to capitulate honorably. 

He went out upon the balcony, while the moonlight 
shone on the black and surging mass below, and glittered 
on the guns and bayonets : 

" Who are you ? and what do you want ? ” asked the 
Mayor, in a firm voice, when the tumult abated. 

Then a man in a long coat advanced. 

"Open the door,” he said, "and avoid a fratricidal 
contest.” 

" I command you to retire,” replied the Mayor. " I 
protest in the name of the Law.” 

These words awoke a great clamor. When calmness 
was in a degree restored, voices and words were again 
heard. 

" We are here in the name of the Law ! Your duty is 
to respect the fundamental Law of the country — the Con- 
stitution which is being outrageously violated ! ” 

" Long live the Constitution ! Long live the Re- 
public ! ” And when the Mayor tried to speak he was 
interrupted : 

"You are a mere functionary, and we intend to remove 
you,” said the man in the long coat. 

When the Commandant, who was gnawing his moustache 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 189 

in a great rage, heard the Mayor thus threatened, he could 
not keep silent any longer. 

“ Zounds, man ! if I had only four men and a corporal, 
I would come down and pull your ears to recall you to 
your senses ! ” 

A fierce growl ran through the crowd, and the Mayor 
hastily left the balcony, imploring Secardot to be reason- 
able if he did not wish them all to be murdered. 

The doors were broken in at once, the National Guards 
disarmed, and the Mayor and all the functionaries taken 
prisoners. 

The Commandant, who refused to give up his sword, 
was protected by the chief of the contingent from Tulettes. 
The prisoners were taken to a little cafe in the Market 
Place. 

This body of rebels would not have entered Plassans, 
had not the chiefs decided that food and rest were neces- 
sary before they could proceed to Sainte-Roure. When the 
Mayor learned that the band wanted food, he offered to 
procure it for them. This functionary evinced, in these 
difficult circumstances, a very clear apprehension of the 
situation. If the hunger of these three thousand men 
could be appeased, and Plassans did not find them in the 
morning, sitting on the sidewalks, the citizens would think 
of them as the phantoms of a bad dream. 

Although he was still a prisoner, the Mayor, accom- 
panied by two guards, went to the doors of all the bakers 
and bade them bring out their bread, and then distributed 
all the provisions they could discover. 

12 


190 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


About one o’clock the three thousand men made a 
hearty meal. Notwithstanding the keen air, the crowd 
was not without a certain amount of gayety. They blew 
on their fingers to warm them as they eat, and sat round 
on the door-steps of the houses. Curious faces peeped out 
from the windows watching these fierce rebels drinking at 
the pump. 

The police station was invaded and the police disarmed. 
Miette and Silv&re were impelled in this direction. The 
child, still holding the standard pressed against her breast, 
leaned against the wall, while the young man, carried away 
by the human current, assisted his companions in tearing 
their carabines from the police. Silvere, in his excitement, 
attacked a stout fellow and snatched his gun ; the barrel 
struck the man’s eye and the blood spurted over Silvere’s 
hands, who was suddenly sobered. He looked at his 
hands, and then at the gun, and fled madly. 

“Are you wounded ? ” cried Miette. 

“No, no,” he answered, in a choked voice. “I have 
killed a police officer.” 

“ Did you see him die ? ” 

“ No ; but his face is covered with blood.” 

He dragged the girl away, and when they were in the 
Market he made her sit down. He looked at his hands, 
and talked incoherently. Miette finally understood that 
he wished to take leave of his grandmother. 

“ Go,” she said. “ Do not be uneasy about me. Wash 
your hands first.” 

He went away rapidly, holding his hands far out from 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 191 

him, without seeming to remember that he could wash 
them at some one of the fountains near by. He had but 
one idea, to run to his Aunt Dide’s and there plunge his 
hands into the cold water of the well in the court-yard. 
All his peaceful, tender childhood returned to him; he felt 
an irresistible desire to shelter himself among his grand- 
mother’s skirts once more, if it were only for a minute. 
He arrived all out of breath. Aunt Dide had not gone to 
bed, which at any other time would have occasioned him 
great surprise. Nor did he, at first, notice his Uncle 
Rougon, who sat in the corner on the old box. 

“ Grandmother,” he said, rapidly, “you must forgive 
me. I am going away with the others. I have blood on 
my hands. I have killed a police officer.” 

“ Killed a police officer ! ” repeated Aunt Dide, in a 
strange voice. 

Her eyes flashed as she looked at the red stains on his 
hands. She turned to the chimney. 

“ The gun,” she exclaimed ; “ where is the gun ?” 

SilvSre, who had left it with Miette, declared it was safe. 
For the first time Adelaide, in the presence of her grand- 
son, made an allusion to the smuggler Macquart, 

“You must bring back the gun,” she cried, with singu- 
lar energy. “ It is all that is left of him. Swear that you 
will bring it back. You have killed a policeman — a 
policeman killed him !” 

She continued to look at Silvere fixedly, with an air of 
cruel satisfaction. She asked no explanation of his inten- 
tions, nor did she weep as grandmothers do when they see 


192 THE ROU GON-M ACQU ART FAMILY. 

their grandchildren suffer the smallest scratch. She had 
only one thought apparently. 

“ Was it with that gun you killed the policeman ? ” she 
asked. 

Silvere apparently did not understand. 

“ Yes,” he said; “and I am going to wash my hands.” 

When he returned from the well he saw his uncle, who 
had heard what he had said to his grandmother. “Felicity 
was right,” Pierre thought ; “ I shall certainly be ruined 
by my family. Now that this boy has committed this 
crime, I shall never receive the office for which I hoped, 
unless I prevent him from joining the rebels now.” He 
stood in front of the door. 

“Listen to me,” he said to Silvere; “I am the head of 
the family, and I forbid you to leave this house. To- 
morrow I will assist you in reaching the frontier.” 

Silvere shrugged his shoulders. 

“Let me pass,” he said, quietly; “I am not a spy, and I 
will not betray your hiding-place.” And as Rougon con- 
tinued to talk, he added: “Why do you say I am of your 
family? Have you not always denied me? Fear has 
brought you here now, because you know that the day of 
justice is at hand. Move away, sir. I have a duty to fulfil.” 

Rougon did not move. Then Aunt Dide, who had lis- 
tened to Silvere’s vehement words in a sort of ecstasy, laid 
her withered hand on her son’s arm. 

“Move, Pierre,” she said ; “ the child must go !” 

The young man pushed his uncle lightly aside, and 
passed through the door. Rougon fastened it behind him, 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 193 

and said to his mother, in a voice that was both angry and 
threatening: 

“If any accident happens to him, it will be your fault. 
You are utterly mad, and have not the smallest idea of 
what you are doing.” 

But Adelaide did not seem to hear. She threw a log on 
the dying fire, saying as she did so with a vague smile: 

“I know all about it. He will stay away a month, and 
will then come back in better health and looks, than when 
he went away.” 

She was speaking of Macquart. 

SilvSre hurried back to the Market. As he approached 
the place where he had left Miette, he heard a great noise 
and confusion of voices. 

A cruel scene had just taken place. Among the per- 
sons attracted by curiosity to the Square w r as Justin, a young 
man of twenty, the cousin of Miette. He hated her, and 
reproached her with the bread she ate, and it was believed, 
thus revenged himself for the scorn with which she had 
rejected his insolent advances. He was a spy on her every 
movement, for he indulged the fond hope that he could 
induce his father to put her out of doors. 

He had long since discovered her intimacy with Silv$re, 
and only waited a good opportunity to lay it before his 
father; and this evening, when she slipped out of the 
house at eight o’clock, he could keep silent no longer, but 
went at once to the old man. Rebutat was furiously 
angry, and said he would thrash the girl well, if she ever 
dared to cross his threshold again. 


194 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

Justin went comfortably to bed, demoniacally pleased at 
the scene which he anticipated. But he suddenly decided 
to go out and see what had become of his cousin. He 
dressed again and went out. He finally found Miette 
seated on the bench where she was waiting for Silvere, and 
when he beheld her wrapped in her pelisse, and with the 
red folds of the flag sweeping over and behind her, he be- 
gan to sneer and utter the coarsest jokes. The girl was 
dumb under these insults, and finally, shaken by her sobs, 
she buried her face in her hands. 

Justin called her every opprobrious epithet and the 
daughter of a convict, and said she was never to go to his 
father’s house again unless she wished to be kicked out 
of it. 

A little group had gathered around the girl, laughing at 
this painful scene. At last, however, some one more manly 
than the others interfered, and told the young man to be 
silent, or he would be properly chastised. But Justin 
defied him, saying he was not afraid. At this moment 
Silvere appeared, and young Rebutat tried to slink away, 
but hesitated, not being able to deny himself the pleasure 
of insulting the girl once more before her lover. 

“Ah ! ” he exclaimed, “ I thought that fellow was not 
far off. It was to follow him that you left us, was it not? 
Miserable girl, and she is not sixteen. May I ask when 
the baptism will take place ? ” 

He started back as Silvere raised his clenched fist. 

“And please,” he continued, “ not make a mistake, and 
be confined with us — ” 


THE EOU GON-M ACQU ART FAMILY. 


195 


He was silenced by a blow on his mouth, for Silvere had 
rushed upon him. The fellow fled, and Silvere made no 
attempt to follow him. He rushed back to Miette, and 
dried her tears with spasmodic eagerness. 

She lifted her head haughtily. 

“ I will weep no more,” she said. “ I am glad he has 
behaved in this way, for now I have no remorse in having 
left his father’s roof.” 

She lifted the flag and took her place again among the 
Insurgents. It was then about two o’clock in the morning. 
The cold was so keen that the Republicans had risen 
to their feet, and were trying to keep warm by moving 
about the Square. 

Orders were given to march on. The column reformed, 
and the prisoners were placed in the centre. 

At this moment Aristide was seen moving busily about. 
He had come to the conclusion, that, in the face of this 
formidable rising, it would be most imprudent not to 
remain the friend of the Republicans; but at the same 
time, as he did not wish to commit himself too far with 
them, he came with his arm in a sling to wish them God- 
speed, complaining bitterly that he was not able to shoulder 
a musket. He met his brother Pascal in the crowd, carry- 
ing his case of surgical instruments. The physician told 
him in a quiet voice that he was going with the Insurgents. 
Aristide laughed in his sleeve at his innocence, and got 
away as soon as he could, lest he should be appointed 
Guardian of the town — a position which he regarded as 
singularly hazardous. 


196 


THE ROUGON-M ACQUART FAMILY. 


The Insurgents had little hope of holding Plassans, for 
the town was imbued with too thorough a reactionary 
spirit. They would all have gone away had not Macquart 
offered to hold Plassans on the condition that twenty men 
of courage and determination should be left under his 
orders. 

The twenty men were detailed, and he marched at their 
head triumphantly into the Mayor’s house. As he did 
this the main body left by the great gate, leaving behind 
them the silent and deserted streets, adown which they had 
swept like a tempest. Before them stretched the highway, 
white in the moonlight. 

Miette refused any assistance from Silvere, and walked 
on firm and erect, holding the standard of the red flag in 
both hands, unheeding the numbness of her fingers, now 
blue with the cold. 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


197 


CHAPTER Y. 

“the murder of the innocents.” 

PIE Insurrectionary band resumed its march through 



the cold, still country, and arrived at Orcheres about 
ten o’clock in the morning. Their road wound along the 
hills, at the base of which ran the Yiorne. On the left 
the plain stretched out, dotted by villages. At the right 
rose the desolate peak of the Garrigues, rusty as if browned 
by the sun. The road passed among huge boulders, be- 
tween which glimpses of the valley could be caught. 
Nothing was wilder — nothing more grand than this road 
hewn through the hills. At night the aspect of the place 
was peculiarly solemn. Under the pale light the Insur- 
gents swept along, as through an avenue of a ruined town, 
with its temples shattered and fallen on either side. The 
moon transformed each rock into a mutilated column, a 
crumbled capital, or a wall pierced by mysterious portals. 

High up, the Garrigues slept like an immense Cyclopean 
city, whose terraces, houses and obelisques hid half the sky; 
and below, the moonlight spread over the plain, where 
floated a light fog. The rebels might have fancied, had 
they been imaginative, that they were on a gigantic cause- 
way, constructed on the shore of a phosphorescent sea. 

That night the Yiorne roared hoarsely, but through the 
noise it made the sharp notes of the tocsin were heard. 


198 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

The villages scattered over the plain on the other 
side of the river were sounding the alarm and lighting 
their fires. Until daybreak the marching column saw the 
insurrection run along the valley like a train of gun- 
powder. The fires pierced the darkness with glittering red 
points — distant strains of music came on the wind — and 
all the extent of country before them seemed to be stirred 
by angry shivers. For leagues the spectacle remained 
the same. These men, who marched in the blind fever 
planted there by the events in Paris, were immensely 
excited by the spectacle of the whole earth, as it were, 
shaken by revolt. They believed that France was with 
them ; that beyond the Viorne, vast armies of men were 
hastening, like themselves, to the defence of the Repub- 
lic; and these uncultivated minds, with the facile belief 
of masses, looked forward to an easy victory. Had any 
one ventured to say that they were the only ones to 
stand firm, and that the rest of the French people were in 
a state of abject terror, the rash speaker would have been 
seized and the words strangled in his throat. They were 
constantly encouraged also by the welcome they received 
from the villages along their route. The inhabitants rose 
in a body, the women ran to meet them and wish them a 
speedy victory. The men, half-clothed, joined them with 
weapons in their hands. At each village was a new ova- 
tion, cries of welcome and cordial adieux. 

Toward morning the moon disappeared behind the 
Garrigues, and the march was continued in the thick dark- 
ness of a winter night. They could see neither the hills 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 199 

nor the valleys ; they heard only the muffled, plaintive 
strokes of bells, hidden they knew not where, whose 
despairing appeals pushed them on unrelentingly. 

Meanwhile, Miette and SilvSre had not faltered in their 
march; but just before daybreak the girl admitted that she 
was utterly worn out, and could not keep up with the long 
strides of the men about her. But she was determined they 
should hear no complaint, for she was ashamed that she was 
not as strong as a boy. Silvere, seeing that the flag-staff 
wavered in her stiff hands, tried to induce her to let him 
carry it, but with childish obstinacy she would not allow 
him to do more than aid her with one hand. But when 
the moon was hidden she allowed him not only to bear 
the standard but to support her also. 

“Are you very tired, my poor little Miette?” asked her 
companion. 

“Only a little,” she answered, in a faint voice. 

“Shall we rest a while?” 

She did not reply, and he saw that she was nearly un- 
conscious. He confided the flag to one of the Insurgents, 
and left the ranks, carrying the girl in his arms. She 
struggled a little, vexed to be treated like a child. He 
calmed her, telling her that he knew of a road across the 
country which would abridge the distance by half. They 
could rest, he said, a good hour, and then reach Orcheres 
as soon as the band. 

It was then six o’clock. A light fog rose from the 
Viorne, and the night seemed very black. The young 
people climbed one of the spurs of the Garrigues for a 


200 


THE ROU GON -M ACQTJ ART FAMILY. 


little way, and then seated themselves on a rock. Around 
them was a fathomless abyss of darkness; it was as if 
they had been shipwrecked on a reef. They heard not a 
sound now except two bells, one of which rang far down 
at their feet in some village built along the road. The 
other was more distant, and seemed to reply to the feverish 
moans of the first, by sobs and complaints. 

Miette and SilvSre, warmed v by their rapid walk, no 
longer felt the cold. They did not speak, however, but 
listened in melancholy silence to the appeal of the tocsin. 
They could not see each other, and Miette was frightened. 
She grasped SilvSre’s hand mechanically, and held it 
tightly in hers. After the uproar of the last few hours, 
this sudden silence — this solitude, in which they sat side 
by side in weary bewilderment, was as a sudden awa- 
kening from a tumultuous dream. It seemed to them as 
if they had been thrown upon a rocky shore by some 
stupendous wave. 

An inevitable reaction set in ; they forgot their enthu- 
siasm and the band of men whom they were to rejoin. 
They were filled with the ineffable joy of feeling them- 
selves once more alone with each other, hand in hand. 

“You will not let me go with you, I know,” said the 
young girl. “ I could march by your side all night, but 
they go so fast that I could not breathe.” 

“But why should I not let you go with me?” asked the 
young man. 

“ I do not know ; I am afraid you do not love me. I 
cannot walk as far as you, and you think me only a 


THE KOUGON-MACQUAKT FAMILY. 


201 


child.” SilvSre smiled, and Miette divined it in spite 
of the darkness. 

She continued in a decided voice : 

“ I am tired of being treated as your sister : I wish to 
be your wife,” and she laid her head on his breast, and 
held him closely in her arms. 

“We are cold — this will warm us.” 

Until this troubled hour the young people had loved 
each other with fraternal tenderness. In their ignorance 
they continued to believe that it was friendship alone 
which induced them to linger thus, each in the arms of 
the other. Every girl who lies on the shoulder of a youth 
is already a woman — innocent and unconscious, whom a 
caress can awaken. When lovers kiss each other on the 
cheeks, the way is short to the lips. One kiss transforms 
friends to lovers. It was on this cold, black night in 
December, with the dreary tocsin vibrating in their ears, 
that Miette and Silvere exchanged one of those kisses which 
summon every drop of blood from the heart to the lips. 

Miette had said, “ This will warm us i ” — and they inno- 
cently waited. They each felt the arms of the other hot 
through their clothing. They felt their breasts rise with 
the same sigh. A bright light passed before their closed 
eyes, and strange noises rang through their brains. This 
languid happiness was indefinitely prolonged, and it was 
in that dream that their lips met. The kiss was long and 
eager, and in shame and confusion they separated. When 
their blood ran less hotly in their veins, they found them- 
selves far apart. 


202 THE ROUGOR-MACQUART FAMILY. 

Miette did not dare approach SilvSre, who was so silent 
that she was not even sure he was there. If their walk 
had not been so rapid and the night so dark, this kiss 
would never have been exchanged. Miette thought of 
Justin and of the vile words he had uttered, and at which 
she had wept without understanding their significance; 
now her cheeks tingled with shame. She uttered a stifled 
sob. 

“What is it?” asked Silv£re, anxiously. “Why do 
you weep ? ” 

“ Let me be,” she answered. “ I do not know.” Then, 
amid her tears, she added : 

" How unfortunate I am ! When I was only ten, I 
was stoned by the children in the street. To-day I am 
treated as if I w^ere the vilest of the vile. Justin was 
right, Silvere. We are behaving very badly.” 

The young man in consternation put his arms about 
her with vain efforts to console her. 

“I love you,” he murmured. “I am your brother. 
Why do you say we are behaving badly ? Have we not 
always embraced each other when we separated?” 

“ Yes, but not in the same way,” she answered, in a 
voice that was almost inaudible. “ I felt so strangely 
that I know it was wrong, and the men will laugh as I 
pass them, and they will have a right to do so.” 

The young man could say nothing, for he could find no 
words to soothe this innocent child, whom that first kiss 
of passion threw into such mortal terror. 

He drew her closer, but she struggled away from him, 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 203 

and said, pantingly: "If you choose, we can leave the 
country. I shall never dare to return to Plassans. My 
uncle will beat me, and every one will point at me.” 

Then with sudden irritation she added: 

"No. I am accursed. I forbid you to leave Aunt Dide 
to follow me. You must leave me here on this highway.” 

"Miette! Miettei” cried Silv&re; "how can you say 
such cruel things?” 

" How are they cruel ? They are only true ! I will not 
go back to Plassans with you.” 

The young man kissed her once more on her lips. 

"You will be my wife; and no one will dare say a word 
against you,” he murmured. 

" No, no,” she answered, faintly. " I am too young ta 
be your wife. You must leave me here.” 

Then Silv£re could bear no more, and burst into wild, 
boyish sobs. Miette, terrified at the sound, wound her arms 
tenderly about him, and cried out that it was all her 
fault; and the two children mingled their tears, while the 
bells continued their dreary sound. 

The young man said at last: 

"You are right; we cannot return to Plassans. If we 
are conquerors I will go for Aunt Dide and take her away 
with us. If we are vanquished — ” He stopped. 

"If we are vanquished,” repeated Miette, gently. 

"I shall not be here in that case,” continued Silv£re, in a 
low voice; "and you must console the poor old grand- 
mother.” 

"It is better to die,” sighed the girl, pressing her lips 
once more to his. She wished to die with him. 


204 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

Die! Die! The bells repeated the word with ever 
growing earnestness, and the lovers listened to the dreary 
summons as, with lip on lip, they drank the sweetest joy. 

"I love you! I love you !” murmured Silv£re. 

Miette shook her head ; she seemed to say that the young 
man was hiding something from her. Her ardent nature 
had an intuitive perception of the fulness of life, and this 
rebellion of her blood and her nerves she frankly evinced 
by her burning, restless hands, and her vague entreaties. 

Somewhat calmed at last, she placed her head on Sil- 
vere’s shoulder. The young man leaned over her and 
kissed her again. She drank in his kisses, and asked them 
their secret meaning. She questioned them ; she felt their 
liquid fire run through her veins. A sudden fatigue over- 
whelmed her, and she fell asleep. 

Silvere wrapped the red pelisse more closely about her 
and himself, and neither felt the cold. When SilvSre 
knew by Miette’s regular breathing that she was at last 
asleep, he rejoiced at this repose, which would allow her 
after a while to continue on her way. He determined 
to let her sleep an hour undisturbed. The heavens were 
still black; low down in the East a faint white line indi- 
cated the approach of day. 

There must have been a grove of pines quite near, for 
their musical greeting to the new-born day, the soft sigh- 
ing of the wind through their branches, was heard by Sil- 
vSre, mingled with the wail of the bells which still 
vibrated through the keen air, soothing Miette’s slumbers 
as they had lulled the hot fever of her blood. 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


205 


These children, until this troubled night, had lived one 
of those innocent idyls which exist sometimes among the 
working classes, in their simplicity reminding one of an 
ancient Greek fable. 

Miette was not more than nine when her father was sent 
to prison for having killed a gendarme. The trial was 
long remembered in the country. The criminal haughtily 
confessed the murder, but swore he did it in self-defence. 
"It was a duel/’ he said, “not an assassin ation.” Noth- 
ing moved him from this assertion. The judge told 
him that a gendarme had a right to fire at a poacher, but 
a poacher none to attack a gendarme. Chantegreil 
escaped the guillotine only on account of the good charac- 
ter he had previously borne, and wept like a child when 
he was sent to Toulon. 

The little girl, who had lost her mother in the cradle, 
lived with her grandfather in a little village among the 
mountains, and when the poacher left them, the child and 
the old man lived on charity, and finally the old man died 
of grief. Miette was alone, and would have begged on the 
highway had not the neighbors remembered that she had an 
aunt at Plassans, and one, more kind-hearted than the 
others, hunted up this aunt, who gave the child a very 
cool reception. 

Eulalie Chantegreil was a big, wilful creature, who led 
her husband by the nose, as the neighbors said. But the 
truth was that her husband had the greatest respect for this 
strong woman, who was endowed with most uncommon 
energy and perseverance. The family prospered owing 


206 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


to her, but the good man groaned when, coming home 
one night, he found Miette installed there also. But his 
wife closed his lips by saying: 

“ Pshaw! The child is strong and stout. She will do 
instead of a servant. We can feed and clothe her, and save 
the wages!” 

This calculation soothed her husband, who felt of the 
child’s arms, and found them very well developed for her 
age. The very next day he began to make her useful. 
The work done by peasants at the South is much lighter 
than at the North. Women are rarely seen there mowing 
the earth, bearing burthens or performing the work of 
men — but gather olives and the leaves of the mulberry 
trees, while their hardest labor is to weed the ground. 

Miette worked with a light heart — life in the open air 
was both her joy and her health. She was all smiles as 
long as her aunt lived, for the good woman, in spite of 
her roughness, had a tender, loving heart. She often pro- 
tected the child against the heavy tasks her husband im- 
posed, and would say: 

“Don’t you see, simpleton, if you wear her out to-day, 
that she can do nothing to-morrow?” 

This argument was decisive. Rebufat submitted quietly, 
and carried the burthen himself which he had intended to 
impose on the child. 

The only thing that disturbed the child’s peace while her 
aunt lived, was the incessant persecution to which she was 
subjected by her cousin. He liked to tread on her feet, 
push and pinch her secretly, and when he saw the pain he 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


207 


had given, laughed with that peculiar laugh of people 
who enjoy the miseries of others. 

Miette would look at him with her great black eyes full 
of haughty disdain and the boy would shiver, for in 
reality he stood in deadly terror of the girl. 

Aunt Eulalie died suddenly, and from that day Rebufat 
treated Miette like a beast of burthen. She did not com- 
plain, for she felt that she had a debt to pay, but half the 
night through she would weep for that good aunt who had 
stood between her and her taskmaster. She was not indo- 
lent; indeed, she liked work. She was proud of her strong 
arms and broad shoulders. She was greatly disturbed, 
however, by her uncle’s distrust and by his incessant re- 
proaches. A stranger would never have been treated as 
she was, but being a poor relation, she was forced to sub- 
mit. She paid for all she received ten times over, and 
there was not a day that she was not taunted with the bread 
she ate. 

Justin continued to torture her — his favorite trick was to 
talk to her constantly of her father. He gave her the most 
odious details of the murder and the trial. lie then told 
her how convicts were treated — how many hours they were 
compelled to work each day with a ball and chain. 
Miette tried to close her ears, but it was quite impossible. 
Sometimes she would fly at Justin in childish rage, and 
then her uncle would say with a sneer: 

“ Blood never lies. You will end at the galleys as well 
as your father ! ” 

As Miette grew older, she learned to endure her 


208 


THE KOUGON -M ACQTJ ART FAMILY. 


martyrdom without tears, and fixed her eyes on J ustin in a 
way that reduced him to silence. She was tempted at times 
to run away, but she absolutely had not the courage to avow 
herself conquered by the persecutions she endured. She 
knew, too, that she earned her bread, and was not indebted 
to the Rebufats. This certainly satisfied her pride. She 
lived, therefore, in a continual contest. Her line of con- 
duct was to perform each duty conscientiously, and to avenge 
herself for the treatment she received by a contemptuous 
silence. She knew that her uncle was constantly urged by 
Justin to send her away from the house, and she took a 
certain kind of pleasure in remaining. 

She lived an isolated life, growing up in revolt, and 
naturally acquired opinions which were startling enough to 
those about her. 

Her thoughts were constantly on her father, and she 
finally arrived at the firm belief that he had been most un- 
justly treated, and when the little scamps in the street 
called out after her: “There she goes — the convict’s 
daughter!” she would hurry on with compressed lips and 
eyes dusky with wrath. 

As she entered the gate, she would turn and look back at 
the little mob. 

She would have grown hard and cruel, like all pariahs, 
if her childhood had not had some pleasant memories for 
her. As she thought of these the hot tears would come, 
and she would run and hide herself, knowing intuitively 
that if her tears were seen, her martyrdom would be 
fiercer ; and when she had cried her heart out she would 


THE JtOUGON-M ACQU AET FAMILY. 


209 


bathe her eyes and regain her calmness, doing her best 
not to seem a child. 

The well in the court-yard of the house inhabited by 
Aunt Dide and Silvere was on the boundary line, and 
Silv&re drew the water. One day the pulley broke, and 
the young wheelwright arranged a new one. To mount 
it he was obliged to climb upon the wall, and when his 
task was completed, he turned an inquisitive glance into 
the next enclosure. A peasant girl was weeding a bed of 
vegetables. It was July* the air was soft and balmy, 
and the sun just setting. A colored handkerchief was 
knotted loosely over the girl's shoulders. Her white 
sleeves were rolled up, and she was kneeling on the folds 
of her dark blue cotton skirts, which was fastened by two 
bretelles crossing over her back. She was steadily pull- 
ing up the weeds and throwing them into an old basket 
at her side. The young man watched the decided, quick 
movements of those brown arms. She had looked up 
once, but immediately lowered her head so that he could 
not see her face. He sat looking at her curiously, 
swinging his chisel in his hand, when suddenly the chisel 
fell on the edge of the well and rebounded into the 
Jas-Meiffren land. 

Silvere hesitated, not knowing whether he should de- 
scend or not ; but the peasant girl quietly rose, picked up 
the chisel and held it up to Silvere, who leaned down from 
the wall in great embarrassment. He saw that the girl was 
very young; she raised her charming face, with its rich, 
ripe lips and superb black eyes. He had never before 


210 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

been so near any girl, and he did not know that a mouth 
and pair of eyes could be so pleasing to look at. He looked 
at the arm which held the chisel toward him. The arm 
was of a golden brown to the elbow, and a little above, but 
in the shadow of the chemise sleeve, the skin was milky 
white. The little peasant girl began to be very much 
embarrassed ; but neither youth nor maiden knew what to 
do next. They had not exchanged a word. Silvere forgot 
to say, “ Thank you.” 

“ What is your name?” he said at last. 

“ Marie,” answered the girl ; “ but everybody calls me 
Miette — and you? what is your name?” 

“ Silvere,” replied the young workman, quickly. “ I am 
fifteen ; how old are you?” 

“ I shall be eleven on All Saints’ Day.” 

Silvere uttered an exclamation of surprise. 

“And I thought you a woman grown !” he said. “Your 
arms are so large!” 

She laughed and gave a pleased glance at her sturdy 
arms. Then a brief silence ensued, and as Silvere seemed 
to have no more questions to ask, Miette returned to her 
weeds, while he still sat on the wall. The oblique rays 
of the sun fell on the yellow earth, and in this bright 
light the boy watched the peasant girl, in her blue skirts 
and white chemise. Suddenly he felt ashamed of himself, 
and hastily left the wall. 

That evening Silvere, full of his adventure, tried to elicit 
some information from Aunt Dide. Perhaps she could 
tell him who this Miette, with such shining eyes and rosy 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 211 

lips, might be. But Aunt Dide had never so much as 
cast one glance over that high wall ; it was to her as a 
rampart which shut in all her Past. She was utterly 
ignorant of all that took place in those old grounds, and 
wished to remain so, for it was there she had buried her 
love, her heart, and her flesh. At Silvere’s first question 
she started back in dismay. Did he intend to disturb the 
ashes of those extinct days, and make her weep, as Antoine 
had done? 

“ I do not know,” she gasped. “ I never go out. I 
never see any one.” 

Silvere waited for morning with some impatience, and 
as soon as he reached the workshop he made his comrades 
talk. They were quite ready to do so. He said nothing 
of his interview with Miette, but spoke vaguely of a girl 
who lived at Jas-Meiffren. 

“ Oh ! that is little Chantegreil ! ” cried one of his com- 
panions, and at once proceeded to narrate the story of the 
poacher and his child Miette, with that blind hatred felt 
by the crowd toward pariahs. The girl was spoken of with 
especial coarseness. They stigmatized her as the convict’s 
daughter, as if that reason were sufficient for condemning 
the poor little girl to an eternal shame. 

The wheelwright, Vron, a good, honest man, finally 
imposed silence upon them. 

“ Hold your tongues, boys ! ” he said. “Are you not 
ashamed to attack a child like that? I have seen her, 
and she has a good face. I am told, too, that she is not 
afraid of work, and that she can do as much now as a 


212 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


woman of thirty. There are plenty of clo-nothings about, 
and I trust that when the time comes she will get a good 
husband, who will compel you all to keep a civil tongue in 
your heads.” 

Silv&re, who had grown sick at the coarse jests of these 
men, felt tears spring to his eyes at these last words, but 
he did not speak. He took up his hammer and went to 
work with unusual energy. 

That night, as soon as he left the workshop, he ran to 
the wall. He saw Miette weeding the garden as she had 
done the night before. She went toward him with an 
embarrassed smile. 

“You are Chantegreil, are you not?” he asked. 

She recoiled ; the smile left her lips and her eyes grew 
dark and defiant. Did he mean to insult her like the 
others? She turned her back without replying. 

Silv^re looked at her in consternation, and hastened to 
add — 

“ Don’t go ; I did not intend to say anything you 
would not like. I have several things to say to you.” 

She came back slowly and suspiciously. Silvere, how- 
ever, did not speak, for he was afraid of committing some 
new blunder. 

Finally, with his whole heart in his voice, he said : 

" Would you like me for a friend ? ” 

And as Miette lifted her radiant eyes, he continued, 
eagerly : 

“ I know that people worry you. They shall not do so 
now, for I will protect you.” 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


213 


The child smiled. This friendship so frankly offered 
annihilated all her bad dreams. She shook her head, 
and answered : 

“ No ; I do not wish you to quarrel with any one on 
my account. You would have too much to do. Then, 
too, there are some people against whom it is impossible 
for you to defend me.” 

Silvere opened his mouth to contradict her, but in a 
coaxing voice she added, gently : 

“It is enough that you should be my friend.” 

Then they talked for a time, and dropped their voices 
very low. Miette told her new friend of her cousin and 
of her uncle. On no account, she said, must they ever 
see him on the top of the wall. Justin would be unendu- 
rable, if he should have a weapon like that against her. 
She told of her fears and her trouble with the frankness 
of a little girl, who meets another to whom her mother 
has forbidden her to speak. Silv&re understood only that 
he could not see Miette as often as he pleased. He said 
he would not climb the wall again, and they were trying 
to arrange some way of seeing each other when, suddenly, 
Miette saw Justin in the distance, and hurriedly begged 
Silvere to vanish. He dropped on his side of the wall, 
and stood there listening a few minutes. 

The next day he came to the wall again, but Miette was 
not there: she had finished her work in that part of the 
garden. A whole week elapsed without Silvere seeing 
her, and he thought seriously of going deliberately to 
Jas-Meiffren and asking to see Miette. 


214 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


The well was very deep, and on each side of the wall 
rounded the half circle. In the sleeping water the two 
openings were reflected like two half moons separated by 
the black shadow of the wall. They looked like two 
singularly bright mirrors, reflecting on sunny mornings, 
with marvellous fidelity, each leaf of the ivy that clam- 
bered on the wall. 

One morning very early Silv&re, when he went to draw 
the water for Aunt Dide, leaned over mechanically as he 
caught the rope. He stood in silent amazement, for it 
seemed to him he could distinguish a young girl’s face 
looking at him with a faint smile, but as he grasped the 
rope the water trembled, and the face was lost. He 
waited, with his heart in his mouth, for the water to 
be smooth once more, and as the ripples extended and 
disappeared, he saw the apparition return with the 
timid grace of a phantom. At last the water was calm 
once more, and he saw Miette’s face, her colored ker- 
chief and white chemise. She could see Silvere also, 
and presently they exchanged a cheerful nod. At last 
they spoke. 

“ How do you do, Silvere ?” 

“ How do you do, Miette ? ” 

The strange sound of their voices startled them, for in 
this cool damp place they had acquired a singular sweet- 
ness, and seemed to come from afar off with that peculiar 
clearness one hears in voices heard at evening in the 
country. They realized that they could speak very softly, 
and yet be heard by each other. The well echoed the 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


215 


faintest sigh, and they leaned over, looking down and 
talking. Miette told him how grieved she had been for a 
week not to see him. She was at work at the other end 
of the grounds, and could not get away. She gave a 
little angry toss of the head as she spoke, to which Sil- 
vere responded by a similar movement. They made their 
little confidences exactly as if they were face to face. 
Little did it matter to them that the wall was between 
them, now that they could see each other in this discreet 
water. 

“I knew,” said Miette, sagaciously, "that you drew the 
water every day at this hour: I can always hear the 
creaking of the rope. So I have made the excuse that the 
water from the well cooks vegetables better than that 
from the reservoir, which we have used, and I determined 
to come here every morning when you did, so I might 
say good-morning to you without any one knowing it.” 

She laughed with innocent delight at her own shrewd- 
ness, as she added : 

“ But I did not suppose that we should see each other 
in the water ! ” 

This was, in fact, a most unlooked-for amusement to 
these children. At last Miette said she must go, and 
bade Silvere draw up his bucket. But Silvere did not 
dare move, for it hurt him to mar the smiling face he 
saw reflected there. He touched the rope. A light shiver 
passed over the water, and Miette’s smiles faded. He 
stopped, seized by a strange fear. He fancied that she 
wept. But the child cried : 


216 THE KOUGOX-MACQUAKT FAMILY. 

“Go ! go !” with a laugh, repeated by the echo at the 
same moment. 

She suddenly dropped a pail into the well. All was 
black then. And Silvere filled his buckets mournfully, and 
listened to Miette’s footsteps on the other side of the wall. 

From this time the young people never missed this 
morning meeting-^if meeting it can be called. The sleep- 
ing water, whereiu they saw each other, gave to these 
interviews an indefinite charm. They no longer cared to 
see each other face to face; it was much more amusing to 
take the well for a mirror and to intrust to the echo their 
mutual good-morning. They soon came to regard the 
well as an old friend. They liked to look down on that 
motionless surface, heavy like quicksilver. Below, in a 
mysterious twilight, green lights and shadows chased each 
other hither and thither. They looked down into a green 
nest, tapestried with moss and overhung with foliage. 
They took it into their foolish heads to go down and sit 
upon projecting stones within the well, where their feet 
touched the water, and where they could stay for hours with- 
out any one having the smallest suspicion of their where- 
abouts. Sometimes a vague terror assailed them; they 
fancied they heard other voices than their own — other 
sighs than those they themselves uttered. These sounds 
they could not explain, but they were all natural enough, 
and the slight terror they felt was only an additional at- 
traction. The well, therefore, remained their old friend. 
Never had Justin suspected the reason of Miette’s haste 
to draw the water in the morning. Sometimes he watched 
her afar off as she leaned over the curbstone. 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


217 


“Lazy thing !'' he would mutter. “She likes to play 
still, as if she were five years old ! '' 

How could he suppose that on the other side of the wall 
a young gallant was looking in the water at the girl's 
smiling face, and that he was saying at that moment: 

“If that ass of a Justin ill-treats you — he will hear 
from me!” 

This amusement went on for a month. It was July; 
the mornings were intensely hot, and the coolness about 
the well was delicious. Miette came like the wind down 
the garden path — the short hairs about her forehead curl- 
ing closely — she hardly took time to put her pitcher down. 
And Silvere, who was almost always there first, felt, as 
he saw her sudden reflection in the water, almost as 
if she had thrown herself into his arms at the end of a 
path. 

Around them the sun shone, birds sang, and the loud 
hum of insects, among the flowers and vines on the old 
wall, filled the air with summer sounds. But they neither 
heard nor cared for this; they were in their cool, fresh 
solitude. 

Sometimes Miette was in a teasing mood. She shook 
the rope and dashed the water about. Silvere implored 
her to be quiet, for he, of a more placid temperament than 
she, asked for no greater pleasure than looking at the 
reflection of his friend's face. 

But she would not listen to him. She jested and teased, 
speaking in a hoarse voice, to which the echo gave a cer- 
tain sweetness: 


218 THE ROUGON-MACQUAHT FAMILY. 

“No, no,” she said, “I am ugly to-day; I am not 
Miette. See how hideous I am — !” 

And she made the most frightful faces, laughing gayly 
at the fantastic reflection in the water. 

One morning she was really angry. Silvere was not at 
the rendezvous, and she waited for him for a half hour. 
In vain did she make the pulley utter a most plaintive 
appeal. In vain did Silvere explain to her that he had 
been detained by Aunt Dide. To all his excuses she 
would only say: 

“You have made me unhappy, and I do not wish to 
see you ! ” 

The poor boy interrogated with despair this vacant 
mirror wherein he had so often seen the charming vision. 
He was compelled to leave without seeing Miette. The 
next day he was early at the interview, and gazed with 
melancholy eyes down into the well, saying to himself that 
he knew she would not come, when all at once he heard a 
rippling laugh, and her face flashed like a gleam of sun- 
shine athwart the dusky surface of the water. 

So much of his life did this well now fill, that never 
afterward did Silvere pass it, without a thrill from head to 
foot, and without seeing Miette’s fair face. 

These months of tenderness rescued the girl from her 
utter discouragement. She felt herself once more a child, 
and as if she had left far behind her the constraint and 
hardness of her life. The certainty that she was loved by 
some one — that she was no longer alone in the world — 
enabled her to endure Justin’s taunts as well as those of 


THE EOTJGOJv-MACQUART FAMILY. 


219 


the ill-tempered children of the neighborhood. Within 
her heart was a melody which drowned the hisses. She 
thought of her father with the same tenderness, but with- 
out the thirst for vengeance. Her new-born love was like 
the fresh dawn coming after a feverish night. 

She said to herself that she ought to retain her former 
discontented air, if she wished to prevent Justin from 
having any suspicions; but, notwithstanding all her efforts, 
her eyes were full of sweetness — the dark look of other 
days had vanished. 

Justin said, one day, when he heard her singing: 

“You seem very gay, La Chantegreil! I wonder what 
you have been doing ?” 

She shrugged her shoulders, but she trembled and tried 
to resume her role ; it was long, therefore, before Justin was 
able to discover how she had escaped from his clutches. 

Silvere, in his turn, was very happy; Ins daily inter- 
views with Miette filled up the vacancy of his life. His 
long and silent tete-a-tetes with Aunt Dide were now 
employed in thinking over the events of the morning. 
He was quiet and secretive in temperament, and liked 
solitude. 

At this time, too, he occupied himself in reading all the 
books he could get hold of. He read an immense amount 
of worthless trash, which would have singularly troubled 
his imagination, but for the absorbing affection which had 
taken possession of his whole nature. 

At night, when he lighted his lamp and opened a dusty 
volume, which he took by chance from the shelf over his 


220 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


"bed, not a female character appeared in its pages that he 
did not at once compare with Miette. If he read a 
romance or a poem, he married Miette at the denoument, 
or he died with her. If, on the contrary, it was some 
political pamphlet he read, some grave dissertation on 
political economy — which style of books he infinitely 
preferred to romances, as the half-educated generally 
prefer what they do not understand — he still found some 
way of interweaving the girl he loved, with this farrago of 
unintelligible words, for he said to himself that he was 
learning things which would teach him to be a more 
loving, tender husband when he was married. Miette, in 
his opinion, was essential to the abolition of Pauperism, 
and the definite triumph of the Revolution. 

Weary as he was, he could not lay down the volume at 
times, and with eyes aching from the yellow, uncertain 
light of the lamp, he hung over the pages where the woman 
appeared always with the features of Miette. In him 
all his mother’s nervousness had expanded into chronic 
enthusiasm — into a reaching and longing for all that was 
far off and unattainable. His solitary childhood, his 
semi-instruction, had developed to a singular degree the 
tendencies of his nature. But he was not yet of an age 
when a fixed idea plants its nail into the brain of a man. 
In the morning, after he had plunged his head into a pail 
of water, he remembered but vaguely the phantoms of the 
night before, and retained only his faith and ineffable ten- 
derness. He was a child again, and ran to the well to 
bask in the smile of the girl he loved; and if sometimes he 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 221 

met Aunt Dide’s questioning eyes — she being troubled at 
his quiet thoughtfulness, and vaguely wondering if his feet 
had not strayed over the boundary of that land so familiar 
to her — he would kiss her on the cheek, with the assurance 
that he was thinking of the future. 

But Miette and Silvere wearied a little at last of seeing 
only their shadows. They had exhausted their game, and 
they wished to meet face to face and roam the green fields 
with their arms about each other. Silvere said one day 
that he would jump over the wall and walk with her in the 
grounds ; but the child was so disturbed by this threatened 
folly that he promised not to do it. 

The wall in which the well was built formed an elbow, 
which was a most convenient shelter from intruders, and 
near by, and totally forgotten, was the door opened one night 
by Macquart and Adelaide. It was overgrown with green 
moss, and hung with ivy. The locks and hinges were rusty, 
and the key probably lost. The grass grew tall against it, 
proving that for years probably no one had passed through 
it. Silvere determined to look for the key. He well 
knew with what devotion Aunt Dide cherished all the 
relics of the past, and yet he looked the house through for 
a week without the smallest result. He tried to fit more 
than thirty keys to the lock — keys which he had picked up 
all through the house, and was becoming quite discouraged, 
when all at once he found the one of which he was in 
search. It was fastened by a ring to the key of the hall- 
door, which was always in the lock, and had hung there 
for forty years. 


222 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


Aunt Bide had fingered it each day, but could not make 
up her mind to take it away. 

When Silvere was certain that he held what he wanted 
in his hand, he waited until the next day to surprise 
Miette, from whom he had kept his plan entirely secret. 
In the morning, when he heard the child put down her 
pitcher, he softly unlocked the door, and, putting his head 
in, saw Miette perched on the edge of the well, looking 
down intently. 

He called softly: “ Miette! Miette!” She looked up, 
supposing him on the top of the wall, but when she be- 
held him not ten steps from her, she uttered a little cry of 
astonishment. It was midsummer and Assumption Day 
— the bells were ringing gayly. 

Ah ! how sweet it was to be together. They held each 
other’s hands, and were about to say what they had never 
dared intrust to the echoing well, when all at once Silvere 
turned pale and drew back. He had just seen Aunt Dide 
standing in the doorway. 

The grandmother had come quite by chance in that direc- 
tion. When she saw the open space in that dark wall made 
by the door which Silvere had forgotten to close, she re- 
ceived a violent blow on the heart. This white opening 
seemed to her a chasm of light hewn violently through her 
black Past. She saw herself hurrying through it with 
eager, loving feet, and Macquart awaiting her. She clung 
to his neck, while the rising sun entered with her into 
the court by the door which she had not had time to close, 
and bathed them in its oblique rays. 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


223 


The vision dazzled her with its brightness, awakening 
her from the sleep of old age, with its remorseless recollec- 
tions. 

The thought that this door could ever open again had 
never occurred to her. Macquart’s death had forever 
walled it up. Had the well and the wall itself been 
swallowed in the earth, she could not have been more 
astonished. 

She stood motionless, burning with indignation against 
the sacrilegious hand which, after violating the lock, had 
left the door open, like a yawning tomb. She would never 
have known the place. The old garden, with its beds of 
vegetables, had disappeared. Not a stone, not a tree that 
she remembered, and this spot where she had grown up, 
and which the evening before she had seen each time she 
closed her eyes, was now a desolate, blank space — a mere 
stubble-field. It seemed to her that her heart died again, 
and for the second time. She deeply regretted that she had 
responded to the summons of this open door, and was about 
to turn away without seeking to know more, when she 
perceived Miette and Silvere. 

Another cruel pang was hers. For the second time the 
door had opened for a pair of lovers. It was the begin- 
ning of the end, with its present joys and its future tears ! 
Aunt Dide saw only the tears, and a quick presentiment 
assailed her. Shaken by the remembrance of all she had 
suffered, and by the fear that future evils would yet come 
through this door, which she, so long %go, had rashly 
opened, she went forward silently and took her grandson 


224 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

by the hand. Perhaps she might have left the children 
there, to talk in the shadow of the old wall, had she not 
felt herself to be their involuntary accomplice. 

Miette snatched up her pitcher and fled, happy in her 
escape. Aunt Dide smiled faintly. 

“ She is very young,” she murmured. “ She has plenty 
of time.” 

She probably meant to say that Miette had plenty of 
time to suffer and to weep. 

Then turning to Silvere, whose eyes were watching the 
child’s fleet step, she said, quietly: 

“Take care, my child; it kills sometimes!” 

These were the only words she ever uttered on this event 
which had shaken her soul to its very foundation. When 
Silvere left the house, she locked the door and threw the 
key into the well, and then went back and looked at the 
wall, thankful to see that it looked as it had done, dark 
and immovable. The tomb was closed, covered by those 
boards, black and mouldy from dampness, and dotted with 
snail shells, like silver tears. 

That evening Aunt Dide had one of those nervous at- 
tacks common with her, during which she often spoke in 
a loud, continuous voice ; and as Silv&re held her in his 
arms he heard disconnected words of which he caught only 
a few. She seemed to be crying out for vengeance on 
some one, and then she uttered a plaintive appeal for 
mercy. When the crisis came to an end she, as usual, 
shivered from head to foot with fear. She half-raised 
herself and looked into the corners with a wild, inquiring 


THE KOUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 225 

gaze, and then fell back on the pillow with long sighs of 
dread and horror. 

She drew Silvere closer to her, seeming to know him, 
and yet confounding him with some other person. 

“ They are there ! ” she stammered. “ Do you see them ? 
They have come to arrest you ! They will kill you yet ! 
Send them away; they hurt me, looking at me in this 
way ! ” 

And she turned her face to the wall that she might not 
see these people of whom she spoke. 

After a long silence she spoke again. 

“ You are close to me, my dear child, are you not? I 
entreat you not to leave me. We did very wrong when 
we cut through that wall, and I have suffered from that 
very day. I knew the door would w r ork us some great 
ill, and now those poor children — think of their tears! 
They, too, will be killed — shot like dogs!” 

She fell back into her cataleptic condition, and was no 
longer conscious of Silvere’s being in the room. Suddenly 
she started up, and looked at the foot of the bed with an 
appalling expression of terror. 

“ Why did you not send them away ?” she cried, as she 
hid her white head on the young man’s breast. “ They 
are always there, and the one with the gun is going to 
fire ! ” 

A little later and she was sleeping that heavy sleep 
in which her attacks terminated. 

The next day she seemed to have no recollection of 
what had taken place, and she never spoke to Silvere 


226 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


of the morning when she had found him in the next 
garden. 

The young people did not see each other for several 
days. But when Miette dared to go near the well again, 
she found Silv&re waiting for her, who at once urged her 
to find some place where they could meet face to face. 
She did not require much urging, but agreed, with the 
laugh of a mischievous child, infinitely amused at the idea 
of outwitting Justin. 

Silvere proposed all sorts of impracticable places. Miette 
shrugged her shoulders in high disdain, and told him 
she would find a place. The next morning at the 
well she told him to be in the rear of Saint-Mittre at ten 
o’clock. 

All day long the girl’s selection puzzled him very much, 
and his astonishment did not diminish as he threaded the 
narrow path among the boards. 

“She will never come that way,” he said to himself. 
Then he heard a rustling of branches behind the wall, and 
suddenly a laughing face and disordered hair above the 
wall. 

“ It is I ! ” she cried. 

And it was Miette, indeed, who had climbed one of the 
mulberries which line the wall, at this very day. She 
jumped down on the flat tomb. Silvere watched her 
with delighted astonishment. He took her two hands 
and said : 

“ How clever you are ! You can climb better than I.” 

And thus it was that they met for the first time in that 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


227 


strange corner where subsequently they passed so many 
happy hours. 

From this moment they saw each other nearly every 
night. The well served as a medium of communicating 
any changes of hours in their interviews, and all the little 
news which was too important in their eyes to admit of 
any delay ; if one wished to communicate with the other, 
the pulley was put in motion : its sharp appeal was heard 
afar off. 

Miette’s room was above the kitchen, and had its own 
especial staircase. This enabled her to go out at any hour 
she pleased without being seen by her uncle or Justin. 

What happy times were these ! It was early in Sep- 
tember, one of the most delicious months of the year in 
Provence. The lovers could not meet until after nine, and 
then Miette came over the wall like a bird, disdaining any 
assistance from Silvere. Her lover called her a tom-boy, 
but in his heart was delighted at her agility and determi- 
nation. He watched her climb the wall with the com- 
placency of a big boy looking on at the sports of his younger 
brother. There was much childishness in their budding 
tenderness, and one day they determined to go to the 
shores of La Viorne birds-nesting. 

‘'You will see how I can climb trees,” said Miette, 
proudly. I can go up so high! so high ! Did you ever 
rob magpies’ nests ? They are the hardest to get at ! ” 

And then ensued a long discussion as to the best way 
of climbing poplars, Miette giving her opinion with all the 
ready coolness of a boy. 


228 THE KOUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

Silv£re put his arm around her waist, and they walked 
up and down the path, all the time quarrelling as to 
whether they ought to put their feet or their hands in 
certain places on the branches. All the time they talked 
they felt a strange thrill of joy which the well had never 
afforded them. They concealed from each other the 
singular emotion each felt at the touch of the other. 
They yielded to their new sensations, all the time talking, 
like two school-boys, of the birds’ nests which were most 
difficult to attain. 

They paced up and down this narrow path, where 
they felt thoroughly at home already. Miette, happy 
in her discovery, insisted on being complimented upon it. 

“We might have gone a full league,” she said, “and not 
hit on such a hiding-place.” 

Thick grass deadened the sound of their steps. They 
were enveloped in foliage, and could see but a narrow strip 
of deep blue sky, set thick with stars, above their heads. 
The spot was so quiet and so secluded that involuntarily 
they lowered their voices, though no one could hear them, 
as they told each other the thousand nothings of the day. 

At other times they, like two children, climbed every 
pile of boards, and Silvere frightened Miette by telling her 
that Justin was certainly watching them from behind the 
wall. Then she would gravely walk by his side, as all 
out of breath she would declare that some day they must 
have a run in the meadow, and see which could catch the 
other. 

They would linger in this place until midnight, while 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


229 


the town slept, and the windows in the Faubourg were 
extinguished one by one. 

Never were they disturbed in their solitude. At this 
hour there were no children playing at hide-and-go-seek 
among the boards. Sometimes the young lovers would 
hear the distant song of a band of workmen, and on warm 
evenings see an occasional couple or an old man seated by 
the side of the road. When the evenings grew cooler, 
Saint-Mittre was deserted, except for the Gypsy camp and 
its fires, before which flitted black shadows. The calm air 
of the night brought them an occasional phrase or word — - 
the good-night of a bourgeois as he closed his door, or the 
rattling of an obtrusive blind. And when Plassans was 
all quiet they heard the Gypsies quarrelling, the crackling 
of their fire, and the guttural voices of the young girls, as 
they sang in an unknown tongue. But the lovers did not 
care to linger outside at the end of their beloved walk. 
They hastened back to it, feeling as free there — -not more 
than fifty feet from the Roman gate — as if they were 
in some nook on the mountain side. The only sound 
which caused them any emotion was that of the clock 
striking. 

When the hour sounded, they pretended not to hear, and 
sometimes they stopped short, if they wished to argue the 
point. They could have chatted and played until morn- 
ing, but Miette would reluctantly decide at last to climb 
her wall once more; but even then there was further 
delay, for she lingered with her elbows planted on the top 
sustained by the mulberry branches, which served her as 


230 TELE ROUGON-MACQTJART FAMILY. 

a ladder. Silvere, standing on the tomb, could reach her 
hands. They repeated over and over again their good- 
nights, but always had a few last words to say. 

At last Silvere was the one to exclaim, 

“ It is midnight; we must go.” 

Then Miette, with girlish obstinacy, would insist that 
he should leave first ; she wished to see him go down the 
path ; but he was equally determined to know that she was 
safe on the ground, away from those perilous branches ; 
and as the young man would not yield, she, to punish him, 
would say : 

“ And now I am going to jump !” 

Silvere held his breath as he listened to the dull thud of 
her leap, and to the little laugh with which she fled. He 
watched her shadow glance past the rifts of moonlight, 
and then slowly and reluctantly turned away himself. 

This was the life of these young people for two years. 
No frosts nor snows, no wintry cold kept them within 
doors. Miette wore her voluminous pelisse, and they 
laughed at the bad weather. When the air was keen and 
struck their faces like slender wands, they did not sit down. 
They walked up and down, wrapped in the pelisse. One 
night they made a huge ball of snow and rolled it into a 
corner, where it remained for nearly a month. 

Rain did not alarm them either. Silvere would hurry 
through the most terrible down-pour, saying that Miette 
certainly would not come, and when Miette arrived, 
drenched to her skin, he forgot to scold her. 

He finally arranged a little roof, which was movable, of 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


231 


slanting boards among the piles of planks, under whose 
shelter they could sit side by side, listening to the pattering 
of the rain above their heads. In no other place were they 
so happy; a deluge ran past their feet, but they were warm 
in the pelisse. For hours they would sit there with that 
love of the rain which makes little girls walk gravely up 
and down under an umbrella. In fact they rather pre- 
ferred the nights to be rainy, and yet this weather gave 
additional pain to their parting, for neither could hear the 
steps of the other. As soon as Miette was over the wall, 
only the rush of the water could be heard, and they were 
uneasy until they met, lest something had happened. 

But Spring came again. April brought soft nights, and 
the grass grew green once more. In this awaking of all 
living things, the young lovers sometimes regretted their 
wintry solitude, which enabled them to feel so far from 
every human being. The long twilights were tedious to 
them, as Miette could not climb the wall until it was quite 
dark, and when it was safe for her to do this they no longer 
found the perfect solitude which had so delighted them. 

The children in the neighborhood played until late on 
the boards, and sometimes one or more hid behind the 
very place where Miette and Silvere were sitting. The 
fear of being surprised, and the noises around them, 
rendered them very uneasy. 

Then they found the narrow path too confined as the 
season advanced. The grass came up to their knees, and 
as they trampled it under their feet certain plants exhaled 
intoxicating odors. Then with eyes half closed, they 


232 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

would lean against the wall, wondering whence came this 
strange lassitude. 

They finally decided that their cherished retreat was too 
close, and they determined to extend their walks into the 
country. 

Miette came with her pelisse. They stole along the 
walls until they reached the highway and the open fields, 
where the air rolled in like the waves of the sea, and dis- 
sipated the languor caused by the tall grasses in Saint- 
Mittre. 

They explored the whole country round about for two 
Summers. Each rock, each grassy bank and clump of 
trees, was known to them. They realized all their dreams 
— they ran their race in the meadow — and Silv£re had 
great difficulty in catching Miette. 

They found their birds’ nests, too. These amusements 
appeased the fever in their blood, and they played like two 
happy children let loose from school. The whole country 
belonged to them; Miette, with a woman’s easy conscience, 
never hesitated to gather a bunch of raisins, a branch of 
green almonds, or any fruit that came in her way, which 
quite shocked Silv^re, but he did not dare scold the girl. 

“The bad little thing!” he would say to himself, quite 
desperate, and, dramatizing the situation, “she will 
certainly make a thief of me!” 

Miette made him eat half the fruit she stole. And he 
became very adroit in avoiding the fruit trees and vine- 
yards. He compelled her at times to sit by his side, and then 
it was that she complained of suffocating. They listened 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 233 

to the water of the river running between the overhanging 
willows ; the hum of the locusts came up to them from the 
valley below, the sky glittered with stars, and in this great 
solitude the children sat hand in hand. 

Silvere, who vaguely realized their danger, occasionally 
started up with a proposal that they should try and reach 
one of the little islands in the middle of the river. Miette 
would not allow SilvSre to carry her, and it more than 
once happened that she slipped and fell, but as the water 
was very shallow, it did not much matter. 

When they reached the island, they would lie on the 
strip of sand which encircled it, their eyes nearly on a 
level with the water, which sparkled in silvery ripples. 
Miette declared that she was in a boat, and that it was 
certainly moving, and they began to sing the rhythmic 
cadence which they had heard from the boatmen. 

One island in especial had a clump of trees overhanging 
the water. The children seated themselves on the gnarled 
roots and splashed their bare feet in the quiet pool 
below. 

These foot-baths put a notion into Miette’s head, which 
was full of danger to their childish innocence. She had 
long wished to learn to swim. She had found the very 
spot, and Silvere must teach her ; but Silvere raised objec- 
tions. It was not wise, they would be seen, she might 
take cold, and so on ; but the real reason was, that he 
could not see where they would undress and dress, nor 
how he was to hold her in the water. 

But the girl did not seem to think of any difficulties.. 


234 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


The very next night she appeared in a bathing dress 
which she had made from an old woollen skirt. Silvere 
went home for some flannel drawers. The arrangements 
were very simple. Miette went a step or two aside ; the 
night was so dark that she stood against the willows, a 
vague white shadow, for only a second or two. Silvere 
stood like a young oak, while the arms and legs of the girl 
looked like the milky stems of some of the river-reeds. 

They entered the water, with little outcries at its cold- 
ness. All Silv&re’s scruples and fears were forgotten in 
this new game, which lasted for an hour. They threw the 
water over each other, and SilvSre gave the first swimming 
lesson. He held her by her belt, and she, furiously agi- 
tating both arms and legs, fancied herself swimming; but 
when he withdrew his support, she would utter little 
shrieks of terror and snatch at his arm. “Hold me 
closer ! ” she cried. 

After this first bath, Silvere was ashamed of having had 
any fears. “ Miette was such a child, and so full of 
gayety ! ” he said to himself. 

In a fortnight she could swim, and, rocked by the 
waves, she could revel in the summer silence and the 
overhanging sky. The shadows on the shore enchanted 
her. She liked to swim toward an open space, where the 
moonlight fell, calm and still, the water growing more 
ruffled as she approached, with circles gradually enlarging 
until they were lost under the willows, from whence came 
soft whispers and rustles. When she floated on her back, 
the sky above was more beautiful still, and from the 


THE ROUGON-M ACQUAINT FAMILY. 


235 


far-off horizon, which she could not see, she heard the 
appeal of a solemn voice and the sighs of the night. 

She was not dreamy by nature; she enjoyed the heaven, 
the river, the shadows and the moonlight with all her 
senses. She adored the river, and, as she swam against 
the current, she loved to feel the water press strongly 
against her breast and limbs. She would pass from the 
shining water, which reflected the moon, into the blackest 
shadow, with a little shiver, as if she had left a sunny 
plain at mid-day and felt the chill of the shady trees. 

She would no longer allow Silv^re to touch her in the 
water. She swam silently at his side, moving farther 
away when she felt an accidental touch. 

When they left the bath, they were often strangely 
troubled. Miette took an hour to dress; she would put 
on her chemise and skirt, and lie down on the turf com- 
plaining of intense fatigue, and bidding Silvere, who was 
equally disturbed, take a seat by her side. 

Fortunately, the girl declared one night that she would 
take no more baths. She said the water was so cold that 
the blood rushed to her head. She gave this reason in all 
innocence. 

They resumed their old talks; and of the danger which 
they had run, nothing remained in Silv^re’s mind, except 
an intense admiration for Miette’s physical vigor. She 
could now swim as well as himself. He adored strength 
and bodily exercise, and felt a marvellous esteem for her 
beautiful strong arms. He treated her, in short, more as 
another youth, like himself, than as a girl, and these very 


236 THE KOUGON-MACQUAKT FAMILY. 

rough plays protected them and prevented them from 
marring the beauty of their love. 

In Silvere’s affection for Miette was much of the kind- 
ness he felt toward all that were unhappy. He could 
never see a beggar — a sick man crouched by the road-side — 
a child walking bare-foot on the rough stones — without a 
choking in his throat. 

lie loved Miette, because no one else loved her---because 
her life was so lonely — and because she was regarded al- 
most as a pariah. His dreams in regard to her were full 
of generous folly. He wished to raise himself, that he 
might raise her, for he looked upon her as his future 
wife, and upon himself as fulfilling a sacred mission ; 
his brain was so bewildered by his mystic socialism, that 
he went so far as to imagine Miette seated on a throne, and 
all the village bowing before her, begging her pardon and 
singing her praises. But he forgot all this nonsense when 
Miette jumped from the wall, or said to him on the 
highway: 

“ Let us run ! You will never catch me ! ” 

But if the young man’s waking dreams were of the 
glorification of his beloved, his sense of justice was so 
keen that he often brought tears to her eyes when he 
talked of her father. The girl, in spite of the tenderness 
with which her love for Silv£re had filled her heart, still 
had her bad hours, when the rebellion of her ardent 
nature sent the light from her eyes and the smiles from 
her lips. 

She maintained, then, that her father had an absolute 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


237 


right to kill the gendarme, that the land belonged to one 
man as much as to another, and that a poor man has a 
right to shoot down his game wherever he can find it. 
Then SilvSre gravely explained the Law, as he understood 
it, and with commentaries so strange that, had the 
worthy magistrates of Plassans heard them, they would 
have gasped with horror. 

These talks took place generally in some quiet corner in 
the open fields. The grassy carpet of a rich green, ex- 
tended as far as the eye could stretch, without a single tree 
to break its surface. The sky, with its numberless stars, 
was far above them. Miette was by no means disposed to 
yield her side of the argument; she asked if her father 
ought to have stood still and allowed himself to be killed 
by the gendarme. Silv5re hesitated a moment, and then 
said that it was better to be a victim than a murderer — 
that it was a great misfortune to kill a fellow-creature 
even in legitimate self-defence. In his own eyes, he said, 
the law was a sacred thing, and he thought the judges 
who condemned Chantegreil were right. The girl grew 
furious, and cried out that his heart was no better than 
the others; and as he continued to defend his opinion, 
she burst into tears and said, between her sobs, that 
he would blush for her whenever he recalled her father’s 
crime. 

But Miette’s tears were not an absolute proof that 
Silv&re’s arguments had convinced her, or that her heart 
was softened by them, for a certain bitterness lay dormant 
in the depths of her heart, as was once shown by her 
15 


238 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


telling, with demoniac delight, how one day she had seen 
a gendarme fall from his horse and break his leg. 

About this time, too, she confided to Silvere that she 
thought Justin had found out why she sang nowadays, 
and why she smiled. 

“ Never mind ! ” she added. t( If he comes to disturb 
us, we will receive him in such a way that he will never 
interfere with us again!” 

Sometimes the girl was too tired for a long country 
walk, and then they returned to their beloved Saint- 
Mittre, to the narrow path which was sweet and fresh and 
free from the intoxicating odors which in midsummer had 
disturbed their senses. 

They sat on the old tomb with a comfortable sense of 
being at home. They loved to talk of the old Cemetery, 
and with their lively imaginative natures they said their 
love had grown like a beautiful plant from out this corner 
fertilized by Death. It had grown like a weed — flour- 
ished like those poppies which the least breath of air shook 
on their slender stems; and they told each other in timid 
whispers, that the whispers among trees, the soft breeze 
that touched their foreheads, the shiver that swept over 
the trees, were so many ghosts who had returned to earth, 
eager to recommence their earthly lives. They believed 
that were they to come there no more, the Cemetery would 
bewail their absence, and that the blades of grass that 
twisted around their ankles were slender fingers reaching 
from the tomb, eager to retain them. But the children 
were never horrified by these strange fancies; they felt 


THE EOUGON-MACQUAKT FAMILY. 


239 


themselves surrounded by invisible friends; they were 
simply saddened and at a loss to comprehend the vague 
wishes and commands of the dead. 

Miette, with her feminine instincts, delighted in all 
dismal subjects. Silvere had found several bones and a 
skull. At each new discovery Miette was thrilled. If the 
bone was small, she declared it to be that of some beautiful 
young girl who had died of a fever just before her mar- 
riage. If the bone was large, she said it belonged to some 
old man — a soldier — or a judge ! The tombstone near the 
wall always interested them. On one clear moonlight 
night Miette discovered some letters on its surface. 
She insisted on Silvere at once removing the moss, and 
then they both read the inscription : 

“ Cy — gist — Marie — morte — ” 

Miette, finding her name on this stone, was greatly 
troubled. Silvere called her “a simpleton;” but she 
could not keep back her tears. She said she knew she 
should soon die, and that this was her grave. The young 
man was chilled in his turn, but he reproached the child 
for her folly. 

“What! Could this be she — little Miette — who was 
always so courageous !” 

They ended by laughing together, and each determined 
never to say any more about this tomb ; but when the 
gray autumnal nights came, Miette was the first to speak 
of this dead Marie, this unknown girl with whose resting- 
place they were so strangely familiar. 


240 


THE ROUGQN-MACQUART FAMILY. 


One night Miette earnestly entreated Silvere to turn 
over the flat stone and see what was underneath. He 
refused, saying it would be a sacrilege, and this refusal 
concentrated Miette’s thoughts still more on the dear 
phantom whose name she bore. 

She wondered if she had died when she was just her 
age— 

“ Listen to me, Silvere,” said Miette. “ When you are 
dead I shall come here to die, and I should like this stone 
to be laid over my body.” 

Silvere, with a choking in his throat, begged her to 
think of something more cheerful. But both carried 
from this Cemetery the vague presentiment of a short life. 
A voice whispered to them that they would die before 
their marriage had crowned their lives. 

It was undoubtedly this tomb, and the constant associa- 
tion with the Cemetery, which made them talk on that cold 
December night, as they sat above the road to Orcheres, 
and watched the Insurgents marching on, of their desire to 
lie together in some deep grave. 

Miette slept softly, with her head on Silvere’s shoulder, 
and at daybreak awoke with a start. Before them the 
valley lay white in the dawn — the sun, however, was still 
behind the hills — along the horizon ran a streak of light. 
Afar off the Yiorne, like a white satin ribbon, wound 
through red and yellow fields just tilled ; gray masses of 
olive trees, vineyards and farm-houses, stood out in the 
cold morning air, and the fresh wind blew full in the faces 
of the children. They started to their feet, cheered by 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 24l 

the brightness of the morning. They looked about with 
eager eyes, and listened to the ringing of the bells. 

“ I have slept delightfully ! ” cried Miette. “ I dreamed 
you kissed me. Did you kiss me ? ” 

“ I think it quite possible,” answered SilvSre, with a 
laugh. “ But it was frightfully cold.” 

“ Yes; my feet ache.” 

“ Then let us run ; we have at least two leagues to go.” 

They hurried to the highway ; but where they stood they 
looked back to the rock as if to bid it farewell. But they 
said nothing of the burning kiss they had there exchanged, 
but walked on, the young man selecting the best and 
shortest roads ; for he had often been sent by his master to 
Orch£res. They went much more than two leagues, and 
Miette accused him of having made a mistake ; but at last 
they came out of a narrow lane directly in front of 
Orch^res, and at the same moment heard the outcries of a 
crowd, for the insurrectionary band were just entering 
the town. Miette and Silvere entered with them. Never 
had they seen so much enthusiasm. In the streets it was 
like some great fete day. The Insurgents were met as if 
they were liberators. Men embraced each other, and the 
w r oinen brought food and drink, and on the doorsteps stood 
old men who wept. The Southern character was shown 
in their shouting, singing and dancing. Silv&re’s ideas 
of death and discouragement were set aside for the 
time. He had wished to fight and sell his life as dearly 
as possible. Now he thought only of Victory, of living 


242 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

joyfully with Miette, and of the great peace of the 
universal Republic. 

This fraternal reception of the inhabitants of Orcheres 
was the last joy of the Insurgents. The day passed in 
boundless hopes. The prisoners, the Mayor, Commandant, 
and several others, were placed in a large room over- 
looking the square. From the windows they contem- 
plated, with shocked surprise, the enthusiasm of the 
crowd. 

“ Would to heaven,” murmured the Commandant, 
leaning over the window-sill as if it were the cushioned 
velvet of a box at the theatre, “ that I had two or three 
cannon ! I would soon clear out this rabble.” 

Then catching a glimpse of Miette, he addressed the 
Mayor: 

“ Look there!” he said; “look at that girl all in red. 
It is a positive disgrace. They have literally brought 
their creatures with them. A little more of this, and we 
shall see strange things.” 

The Mayor shook his head, and talked about “ passions 
unchained” and “the darkest hour of our national history.” 

“Pray be quiet, sir,” said another of the prisoners; “or 
you will have us all massacred ! ” 

The truth was, these gentlemen were treated with the 
greatest possible gentleness, and given a most excellent 
dinner, but to cowards like most of the prisoners, these 
very attentions were full of direful meaning. They could 
only be treated so well that they might be tenderer and 
fatter when the proper day came to eat them ! 


THE KOUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 243 

At twilight Silv£re came face to face with his cousin, Dr. 
Pascal, who was worshipped by all these men. He had 
followed them, making the most unremitting efforts to 
turn them from their object. Then, as if convinced by 
their arguments, he said: 

“You are perhaps right, my friends ; fight if you choose. 
I shall be here to mend your legs and your arms.” 

And all that morning he gathered specimens from the 
stones on the roadside, and was quite desperate that he had 
not brought with him his geologist’s hammer and his 
botany box. His pockets were full of stones when he met 
his nephew, and he carried a bundle of green things under 
his arm. 

“Hallo!” he cried, as he saw Silvere. “Is that you? 
I thought I was the only one of my family here.” 

He uttered these words with faint sarcasm, for he could 
not quite pardon his father and his Uncle Antoine. Sil- 
vere was glad to see his cousin, for the Doctor was the only 
one of the Rougon family who greeted him with any cor- 
diality, or even spoke to him when they met in the 
street. The young man seeing him with the Insurgents, 
and covered with dust, naturally supposed him to be allied 
to the Republican cause, and at once began to talk of the 
Right, of the people, of the Holy Cause, and of the certain 
Victory, with boyish heat and emphasis. 

Pascal listened silently, watching with a smiling face the 
play of the lad’s features, as if he were studying a subject, 
dissecting an enthusiasm to see what lay at the bottom. 

“Upon my word!” he muttered; “you are your grand- 
mother’s descendant, indeed ! ” 


244 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY* 

And he added in a low voice, in the tone of a chemist 
taking notes: 

“ Hysteria or sincere enthusiasm. Absurd folly or 
sublime unselfishness. Devil take these nerves!” 

And then as if thinking aloud, he added : 

“The family record is complete. It will have a hero!” 

Silv§re had not heard, for he was still talking of his 
dear Republic. Miette was a little in advance — she did 
not leave her lover for a moment. This girl, wrapped in 
her ruddy garments, puzzled the Doctor. He suddenly 
interrupted Silvere. 

“Who is that girl?” he asked. 

“ My wife,” answered the boy, gravely. 

The Doctor opened his eyes, but as he was always timid 
and embarrassed with women, he said nothing to Miette, 
but lifted his hat with great courtesy as he passed her. 

The night was a restless, uneasy one. The enthusiasm 
of the Insurgents was passing away, and in the morning 
clouded faces were on every side. 

Disastrous rumors were in circulation that Paris was 
conquered, the Province tied hand and foot, that troops had 
left Marseilles and were advancing under the orders of 
Colonel Masson and of the Prefect. There was a great 
awakening, full of anger and despair. These men, who 
were burning the evening before with patriotic fervor, 
were chilled by seeing France submissively kneeling. 
They looked on themselves as rebels, and they could be 
driven away by musket-shots like wild beasts; and they 
had dreamed of a great war, the rising of a People, and a 
brilliant Victory ! 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY, 


245 


Then this handful of men threw away their arms in 
discouragement, and sat down on the side of the highway, 
saying that they would there await the balls that should 
lay them dead, and in’ that way show their faith in Repub- 
licanism. 

Although these men had now nothing before them but 
exile or death, there were few desertions. They stood 
firmly together; it was against their chiefs that their anger 
was directed. They complained of their incapacity and 
of the irreparable faults they had committed. The Insur- 
gents were now under the command of irresolute men, and 
at the mercy of the first soldiers who presented themselves. 

They spent two days at Orcheres, losing their time and 
aggravating their situation. Their General, hesitating 
under the tremendous responsibility which now devolved 
upon him, decided that to linger longer at Orcheres was 
dangerous, and about one o’clock gave the order for depar- 
ture, and led his little army to the heights of Sainte-Roure, 
which was a defensible position. Sainte-Roure spreads its 
houses upon the flank of a hill ; behind the town enor- 
mous blocks of stone shut out the horizon. This citadel, 
so to speak, is reached only by the Plaine des Nores. 

An esplanade used as a race-course, shaded by superb 
elms, overlooks the plain. It was on this esplanade that 
the Insurgents encamped. The night was black and low- 
ering. A rumor of treason was buzzed about, and at day- 
break the band was passed in review. The Contingents 
stood in straight lines, with their back to the plain. They 
were clad in all sorts of costumes — brown coats and blue 


246 THE ROUG0N-MACQUART FAMILY. 

blouses, drawn around the waist by red belts. Their 
arras, equally diverse, glittered in the clear sunlight. At 
this moment a sentinel, who had been forgotten in the 
olive-grove, ran toward them, crying, 

“ The soldiers ! the soldiers ! ” 

The Insurgents, greatly excited, and forgetful of all 
discipline, threw themselves forward, eager to see the 
soldiers. The ranks were broken, and when the troops 
appeared from behind the gray olives, marching down 
upon them, there was a panic from one end to the other of 
the little band ; but in the centre a wood-cutter shouted 
out, waving his red cravat as he spoke : 

“ Here Chavanos ! Saint-Eutrope ! Here Tulettes ! Here 
Plassans ! ” 

The villages summoned by the wood-cutter united under 
the elms, grouped contrary to all rules of strategy, but ready 
to prevent the passage of the soldiers. Plassans was in the 
centre of this heroic battalion. Among the gray blouses 
and the glitter of their arms, the red pelisse worn by 
Miette stood out like a large scarlet spot, or like a gaping 
wound. 

There was suddenly a great silence. At one of the 
windows of the room where the prisoners were confined 
appeared a white head. 

“ Go back ; close the shutters ! ” cried the InsurgentSj 
furiously; “you will certainly be killed.” 

The shutters were closed, and not a sound was heard 
save the measured tread of the soldiers as they approached. 

A minute, which seemed interminable, elapsed. The 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


247 


soldiers were hidden behind a rising in the ground ; but 
soon the Insurgents saw the points of their bayonets glit- 
tering in the sunlight, and shivering like a field of wheat 
blown by the wind. Silv£re thought he saw the gendarme 
whose blood had stained his hands. He knew from his 
companions that he had not killed the man, but that he 
had deprived him of the sight of one eye. The sudden 
recollection of this man, of whom he had not thought since 
he left Plassans, was insupportable. He wondered if it 
were fear he felt. He grasped his carabine, a mist passed 
over his eyes, yet he saw the bayonets slowly and steadily 
approaching. 

Silvere turned toward Miette, who, with a flushed face, 
was standing on tip-toe to see the soldiers. Nervous expec- 
tation had dilated her nostrils ; her red lips were parted 
over her teeth, white, like those of a young lioness. 

A quick discharge of musketry was heard. The Insur- 
gents felt a great wind pass over their heads, followed by 
a shower of green leaves, cut off by the bullets from the 
branches of the elms. 

A hollow noise, like that of a tree falling, induced 
Silv^re to look around. The stout wood-cutter, who was 
a head taller than any of his companions, lay on the ground 
with a bullet through his forehead. 

Silv&re discharged his carabine, loaded and fired it 
again, without stopping to take aim, and with but one 
idea, to kill something or somebody. The smoke rose 
from among the soldiers, and the leaves continued to fall 
on the Insurgents, for the soldiers fired too high. 


248 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


Occasionally, above the musketry, the young man heard 
a long groan, a hoarse cry, and there was a vacant spot for 
a moment in the little band. 

For ten minutes the firing continued, and then a voice 
was heard. 

“ Save yourselves, if you can ! ” were the words, followed 
by a mad yell of rage and the exclamations : 

“Cowards! cowards!” 

The General fled, and the cavalry were cutting down the 
sharp-shooters on the plain. 

A rough voice said that it was better to die where they 
were, but the first voice repeated : 

“ Save yourselves, if you can ! ” 

The men then ran away, leaping over the dead bodies, 
until not more than a dozen were left, out of which number 
five were almost immediately killed. 

The two children did not move. As the battalion 
diminished, the higher did Miette raise her flag ; she held 
it like a huge candle straight before her. It was riddled 
with shot. 

When SilvSre had no more cartridges in his pocket, he 
looked at his carabine with a dazed sort of air. A shadow 
passed over his face as if a colossal bird had brushed past 
his forehead. He looked up and saw that the flag had 
dropped from Miette’s hands. The child with both hands 
clasped against her breast, and her head thrown back, 
with an expression of acute suffering, was slowly falling 
to the ground. She did not utter one sound. The flag 
was her resting-place. 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


249 


<{ Quick ! ” said Silvere, trying to lift her, “ we must 
run ! ” 

But she did not move ; her eyes were wide open. 

“ You are wounded ! ” cried Silvere, beside himself with 
fear. 

She did not speak. She seemed to be stifling. 

He tore open her dress, but could see no wound. His 
eyes were blind with tears. At last, under the left breast, 
he saw a tiny hole with one single drop of blood. 

“ It is nothing!” he sobbed. “I will find Doctor 
Pascal : he will cure you. If you could only get up- 
Can you not rise?” 

The soldiers had ceased firing. They threw themselves 
now on the few remaining rebels sword in hand. In the 
centre of this vacant esplanade Miette and Silvere were 
alone. In utter desperation the youth tried to lift her, 
but the child uttered such a sigh of pain that he laid her 
gently down again. 

“ Speak to me!” he prayed. “Why do you say 
nothing?” 

But she could not reply. Her fluttering hands seemed 
to say that it was not her fault. Her lips were rapidly 
becoming pinched by the hand of Death. Her loosened 
hair lay over the red folds of the flag ; and only her eyes 
were living — shining in her white face. Silvere sobbed. 
In those great eyes he read a despairing longing for life. 
They said to him that Miette was going away all alone 
without ever having been his wife. They were full of 
reproach, and Silvere understood them only too well. 


250 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

He remembered the burning kiss they had exchanged, and 
in despair and agony he pressed his lips upon that virgin 
bosom, which he saw for the first time. He murmured, 
amid his sobs : 

“ No, no, this is nothing. Do not speak if it hurts you. 
Wait a moment, I will raise your head ; and then I will 
try and warm your hands. They are so cold.” 

The discharge of musketry recommenced in the olive 
grove, but Silvere did not hear it. Nor did he see Pascal, 
who came hurrying toward him thinking he was wounded. 
As soon as the young man realized who it was, he cried : 

“Save her! She is wounded under the left breast! 
How thankful I am that you are here ! You will save 
her ! ” 

At this moment a light convulsion passed over the face 
of the dying girl. A dark shadow settled down upon it, 
and from her half open lips came a little sigh. Her 
eyes, still wide open, were fixed upon the young man. 

Pascal leaned over her, and then said, in a low voice : 

“ She is dead.” 

“Dead!” The word stunned Silvere as if it had been a 
clap of thunder. 

“ Dead ! Dead ! ” he repeated ; “ it is not true ! She is 
looking at me — you can see yourself that she is looking 
at me ! ” 

And he caught the physician by the arm, entreating 
him not to go away — insisting that she was not dead, 
and that he must save her. Pascal answered him affec- 
tionately: 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


251 


“I cannot stay, for others need me. Believe me, the 
poor child is really dead.” 

“Dead!” The words resounded through the youth’s 
brain. Miette still looked at him. He threw himself 
upon the corpse, covering it with kisses, but the child was 
stiff and cold. 

All at once he was overwhelmed with terror. He stag- 
gered to some little distance and crouched on the ground, 
saying, over and over again : 

“She is dead — but she sees me! She will never shut 
her eyes; she will look at me always!” 

This idea soothed the sharpness of his grief. 

Meanwhile the Cavalry cut down all the fugitives — but 
Silvere knew nothing of what was going on about him. 
He did not see his cousin, who came to bring the carabine 
Silvere had thrown aside. Pascal knew it from having 
seen it hanging over Aunt Dide’s chimney; but when 
he saw that the boy paid no attention to him, Pascal took 
it away to the Hotel de la Mule Blanche, where the pris- 
oners were incarcerated. 

Then ensued a horrible massacre. Colonel Masson and 
the Prefect vainly ordered a retreat; the soldiers were 
furious, and they bayoneted the Contingents wherever 
they were found, and when they could see no more ene- 
mies, they riddled the fagade of the hotel with balls. The 
shutters were shivered, as were the windows. Lamentable 
outcries were heard : 

“The prisoners ! The prisoners! ” shouted the Prefect. 

But the soldiers paid no attention to these words, aad the 


252 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


Commandant appeared at the window, shaken by a hurri- 
cane of indignation; by his side was Monsieur Pierotte, 
one of the prisoners. There was a discharge of musketry, 
and Pierotte fell dead. 

Silvere and Miette still looked at each other. The 
young man did not hear anything that was going on. 
He knew only that men were gathering about them, 
and he drew the folds of the red flag over Miette’s naked 
bosom. 

But the contest was over. A gendarme in search of 
another victim, perceiving Silvere under the trees, ran 
toward him; but seeing that he was only a child, he said : 

“ What on earth are you doing here, boy?” 

Silvere, with his eyes still on Miette, did not answer. 

“The little scamp! ” exclaimed the soldier; “his hands 
are all black with powder. Up with you, sir; you will 
soon be dealt with ! ” 

And as Silvere did not move, the gendarme perceived 
that the body that lay before them was that of a woman. 

“A beautiful girl!” he muttered. “It is a great pity, 
to be sure. But she could not have been your mistress — 
you are too young.” 

He jerked Silvere violently to his feet, and pulled him 
off as he would have done a dog. 

Silvere made no resistance, but, turning half around, 
kept his eyes fixed on Miette as long as he could. He was 
desperate at the idea of leaving her alone under the trees. 
His last look showed her to him lying among the folds 
of the red flag, with her large eyes still wide open. 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


253 


CHAPTER VI. 

SHREWDNESS AND COURAGE. 

R OUGON, about five o’clock that same morning, 
ventured out from his mother’s, whom he left 
asleep in her chair. He stole down to the end of Saint- 
Mittre. Not a sound, nor a shadow. He went on to the 
Roman gate, standing wide open. Plassans was still 
asleep, and might have been taken for a Dead City. 
Rougon, with growing confidence, continued his investi- 
gation. He uttered at last a long sigh of relief. The 
Insurgents had vanished like a nightmare, and had aban- 
doned Plassans. The town was his own. Silent and con- 
fiding, he had but to stretch out his hand and take it. 
He stood motionless, with folded arms, in the attitude 
of a great captain on the eve of victory. Afar off, he 
heard the ripple of the fountains, as the water fell into 
their basins. A new anxiety assailed him. Suppose the 
Empire had been achieved without him ! His brow was 
beaded with cold perspiration at this idea. He hurried 
on, hoping that Felicite would be able to give him all the 
details of what had occurred. 

As he turned the corner of the street, he came full in 
front of his house. He rubbed his eyes. What did he 
see? The windows of the yellow salon were brilliantly 
lighted, and a form, which he recognized as that of his 
16 


254 THE ROU GON-M ACQU ART FAMILY. 

wife, was leaning from the window, and wildly gesticula- 
ting. He could not understand what this meant, when 
all at once a hard something fell at his feet. Felicity 
had thrown him the key of the room where he had hidden 
a supply of guns. This key signified clearly that he was to 
use these guns. He at once retreated, unable to divine 
why his wife had prevented him from entering the house. 

He went at once to find Rondier, who lived at the other 
end of the town and was completely ignorant of the events 
of the night, but was up and dressed, and entirely ready 
to march. Pierre proposed that they should go together 
and see Granoux. 

The servant of this gentleman was very reluctant to 
admit them, and they heard the poor man saying, in a 
tone of piteous terror : 

“Look out what you do, Catherine; the streets are in- 
fested with brigands.” 

He was in his bed-room, and had no light. When he 
recognized his friends, he was relieved, but would not 
allow a lamp to be brought to the room, lest it should 
serve as a mark for some bullet. He insisted that the 
town was in the hands of the rebels, and he groaned and 
moaned. 

“You know nothing about it,” he said; “I tried to 
sleep, but they made a most infernal racket ! Then I 
threw myself into this chair, by the window, where I 
could look out. Such vile faces — such ferocious-looking 
creatures ! And when they passed by here they carried 
with them all our best friends as prisoners, and uttered 
cries like cannibals.” 


THE liOUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


255 


Rougon was delighted. He made Granoux repeat over 
and over again whom he had seen in the clutches of these 
brigands. 

“ I tell you I saw them all,” said the good man, almost 
weeping. “ It is perfectly outrageous. I heard what 
they said, too, as they passed under my window.” 

Rondier calmed the old man by assuring him that the 
town was free. When he learned this, and that Rougon 
had come in order that he should assist in saving Plassans, 
he was at once filled with warlike ardor. The three 
saviours deliberated, and finally decided to summon their 
friends, and all meet in the room where their arms were 
stored. Rougon was still disturbed by FSlicite’s strange 
gestures, and scented some unknown snare. Granoux, the 
dullest of the three, was the first to say that some Repub- 
licans must have been left in the town. 

These words were as a revelation to Rougon, who at 
once said to himself : 

“Yes; and a Macquart is among them.” 

In another hour they were in their improvised Armory. 
They had gone quietly from door to door, and collected 
as many men as possible ; but there were only thirty-nine, 
all numbered, who came with disordered dress and pale 
faces. The room, in which they assembled, was encum- 
bered with old hoops and dilapidated barrels. The guns 
lay in three long boxes in the centre. A wax taper, on a 
bit of board, lighted this strange scene in a dim, uncertain 
sort of way. When Rougon lifted the covers off the three 
cases, the scene was at once sinister and grotesque. Above 


256 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


the guns, whose shining barrels reflected a bluish light, 
necks were elongated, and heads were bowed with a 
certain secret horror, while on the walls the yellow light 
of the taper threw gigantic shadows of exaggerated noses 
and disordered hair. 

Meanwhile this reactionary band hesitated. A father 
spoke of his children, and others, without offering any 
excuse, edged toward the door. But two conspirators 
came in, and these knew that in the Hotel de Ville, not 
more than twenty of the Republicans remained. Forty- 
one against twenty struck them in a favorable light. The 
arms were distributed. It was Rougon who did this, and 
each of these men as he took his gun, whose muzzle, on 
this cold December night, was like ice, felt a great chill 
creep over him. 

The shadows on the wall bore a grotesque resemblance 
to embarrassed conscripts. Pierre closed the boxes with a 
sigh. He had one hundred and nine guns there which he 
would most gladly have distributed. Then he took out 
the cartridges, of which there were two huge hogsheads, 
enough to defend Plassans against an army. They filled 
their pockets, and when they had loaded their guns they 
stood looking at each other a moment, their eyes full of 
cowardly cruelty. 

They crept along the side of the houses in single file 
like savages, Rougon at their head. The hour had come 
for him to risk his person if he wished his plans to 
succeed. He carried his head high, but there was a deadly 
sinking at his heart. 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


257 


Suddenly the column came to an abrupt standstill. They 
fancied they heard distant martial sounds, but it was only 
the small copper plates, hung by chains, used by the 
barbers of the South as signs, rattling in the wind. 

After this halt the preservers of Plassans resumed their 
cautious march, and soon reached the Hotel de Ville, 
where they grouped themselves about Rougon, deliberating 
once more. Opposite them the whole facade of the Hotel 
was black, except one window. It was then about seven 
o’clock, and day was breaking. 

After a discussion of some ten minutes it was decided 
that they should go to the door and investigate. Perhaps 
they would be able to discover the occasion of this 
ominous silence. The door was partially open ; one of 
the investigators looked in and came back, saying that he 
had seen a man sitting there asleep with a gun between his 
knees. Rougon determined to take advantage of this, 
and crept in, snatched the gun, and with the assistance of 
two of his companions bound and gagged the man. 

This first success, achieved with such adroitness, and 
in such profound silence, singularly encouraged the little 
band, who had imagined much slaughter and a terrible 
uproar. 

Rougon was compelled to insist that the demonstrations 
of their joy should be most quiet. They advanced slowly, 
and in the room on the left they found about fifteen men 
asleep and snoring by the expiring light of a lantern hung 
against the wall. Rougon, who had developed into a great 
general, left half his men in the corridor, outside this door, 


258 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


with directions not to awaken these sleepers, but to treat 
them with respect, and to make them prisoners if they 
moved. 

Our friends then proceeded to ascertain the meaning of 
the lighted window they had seen from the square. It 
was this which troubled Rougon, for he scented Macquart. 
He crept up the stairs softly, followed by his twenty 
heroes. 

Macquart was in the Mayor’s private room, seated in 
his arm-chair, and with his elbows on the Mayor’s own 
desk. After the departure of the Insurgents, he was so 
absolutely certain of victory that he felt he had nothing to 
do but to take triumphant possession. In his eyes, this 
band of three thousand men, which had passed through 
the town, was an invincible army. The National Guard 
was dismembered, the Quartier of the Nobles quivering 
with fear, and the shopkeepers in the New Quartier 
had never touched a gun in their lives. They had 
no arms, he said to himself, and did not even take the 
trouble to close the gates ; and while his men slept calmly, 
he waited tranquilly until daylight, when he thought all 
the Republicans in the country would gather around him. 

He contemplated strong Revolutionary measures — the 
nomination of a Commune, of which he should be the 
chief; the imprisonment of the bad patriots, and more 
particularly of all the people whom he disliked. The 
thought of the Rougon faction vanquished — the yellow 
salon deserted — of all that clique asking favors of him — 
gave him the sweetest joy. He determined to issue a 


THE ROU G ON-MACQU ART FAMILY. 


259 


proclamation to the inhabitants of Plassans. He dictated 
it, and when it was finished reclined in his arm-chair, and 
ordered it to be read aloud before it was sent to be printed. 

The Proclamation commenced thus : 

“ Citizens of Plassans : The hour of your Independ- 
ence has sounded. The reign of Justice has arrived.” 

A noise at the door of the room was slowly opened. 

“ Is that you?” asked Macquart, interrupting the reader. 

There was no answer, but the door opened still further. 

“ Come in,” said Macquart, impatiently. “ Did you 
find my scamp of a brother at home?” 

Then suddenly the door, which opened in the middle, 
flew apart and struck against the wall on either side, a 
rush of armed men filled the room, with Rougon at their 
head. 

“The scoundrels! they have guns after all,” howled 
Macquart. 

He tried to snatch a pair of pistols that lay on the desk, 
but there were five men ready to spring at his throat. 
The combatants were singularly embarrassed by their guns, 
which were useless to them, and yet which they dared not lay 
down. In the contest Rougon’s gun went off accidentally, 
filling the room with smoke : the ball crashed a superb mirror 
over the chimney. This sudden report stunned every- 
body, and put an end to the battle. All at once came a 
noise from the court-yard. Granoux ran to the window, 
anxious to discover what was going on. A voice from 
below called out that all was well. Granoux closed the 
window, quite radiant. The truth was that the discharge 


260 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


of Rougon’s gun, and the crash of the broken glass, had 
awakened the sleepers, who had surrendered, seeing that 
resistance was impossible, and had discharged their muskets 
in the air without well knowing what they did. 

There are times when guns go off by themselves in the 
hands of cowards. 

Meanwhile Rougon tied Macquart’s hands with the 
curtain bands, while Macquart himself wept with rage. 

“ Go on,” he said. “ The others will come back, and 
then we will settle affairs.” 

This allusion to the Insurrectionists caused a cold shiver 
to pass down the backs of the victors, and Macquart 
watched his brother pale under his glare of hate. 

“ 1 know some fine things,” continued Macquart. “ Send 
me to the Assizes, that I may tell the judge some funny 
stories.” 

Rougon’s very lips turned pale. He was in deadly fear 
that Macquart would speak, and that he should be low- 
ered in the estimation of these gentlemen, who had come 
to assist him in the salvation of Plassans. These gentle- 
men drew a little aside, seeing that a stormy explanation 
between the two brothers was inevitable. Rougon took a 
heroic resolution. He advanced to the group and said : 

“We will keep this man here. When he has reflected 
a little, he may be able to give us some useful information.” 

Then in a pompous voice he continued : 

“ I shall fulfil my duty, gentlemen. I have sworn to 
save this town from anarchy, and I shall keep my word, 
were I even compelled in doing so to slay my nearest 
relative ! ” 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 261 

He had the air of an old Roman sacrificing his family 
on the altar of his country. Granoux, much moved, 
pressed his hand warmly. 

“ I understand you,” he murmured ; “ you are sublime.” 

Granoux then retired, leaving Pierre alone with his 
brother. 

Rougon began : 

“ You did not expect me, then?” he said. “Unhappy 
creature! Do you realize to what your vices and your 
follies have led you ? ” 

Macquart shrugged his shoulders. 

“ Look here,” he answered, “you are an old rascal ; lie 
laughs best who laughs last.” 

Rougon, who could not decide what was best for him to 
do, pushed his brother into a small dressing-room where 
the Mayor often took a nap. This dressing-room was 
lighted from above, and had no other issue than the door 
into the next room. It was furnished with several chairs, 
a divan and a marble washstand. 

Pierre locked the door after having untied his brother’s 
hands, and stood outside listening. 

Macquart dropped heavily on the divan, and then began 
to sing the Marseillaise in a stentorian voice. 

Rougon in his turn placed himself in the Mayor’s arm- 
chair. He sighed and wiped his brow. What a struggle 
was his to conquer fortune and honors! But the end was 
near. He felt it in the soft cushions among which he lay. 
He mechanically touched the mahogany of the desk, and 
said to himself that it was as smooth as a woman’s skin. 


262 THE KOTJ GON-M ACQU ART FAMILY. 

He settled himself more at his ease, unconsciously assu- 
ming the position in which Macquart had sat while he lis- 
tened to the reading of his proclamation. This room, 
with its faded hangings and its smell of musty paper, was 
to him a Holy temple. But in spite of his delight, he 
started at each outburst of Macquart’s voice. The broken 
words — “ Aristocracy a la lanterne,” — “Down with the 
rich ! ” came to him through the door, and disturbed his 
triumphant dream in a most disagreeable fashion. 

Was he always to be thwarted by this man? Was he 
always to meet him at each turn ? His dream which had 
begun by showing him Plassans at his feet, ended by the 
vision of a crowded court-room, where Judge and Jury, as 
well as the audience, eagerly listened to the shameful reve- 
lations of Macquart — the story of fifty thousand francs 
and several others. And while he enjoyed the soft cushions 
of the Mayor’s arm-chair, he saw himself hanging from a 
lamp-post in La Rue de la Banne. Who would relieve 
him from this most inconvenient personage? At last 
Antoine fell asleep, and Pierre had a few minutes of 
unalloyed bliss. 

From these he was aroused by two of his friends, who 
had just come from the prison to which they had consigned 
the Insurgents. The day was getting well on — the town 
would soon be all astir, and it was necessary that they 
should decide on their course. 

Pierre at once proceeded to read the papers which lay on 
the table. 

“This Proclamation suits us perfectly,” he exclaimed. 
“We shall only have a word or two to change.” 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


263 


And in a few moments he read aloud : 

“Citizens of Plassans, the hour for resistance is over. 
The reign of order has returned ! ” 

It was decided that this Proclamation should be printed, 
and that it should be affixed to all the corners of the 
streets. 

“Now listen,” said Rougon ; “I am entirely ready to ac- 
cept the responsibility of my acts. My love of order is 
shown by what I have done, and I consent to act as Mayor 
until the regular authorities can be again established. But, 
lest I should be accused of ambition, I must be assured 
that I am fulfilling the wishes of my fellow-citizens!” 

Granoux and Rondier became quite enthusiastic. Had 
not their friend rescued the town? and they recapitulated 
his deeds of prowess. Had not the yellow salon been al- 
ways open to the friends of power? Had not his ears and 
eyes been always on the alert? Had not the idea of the 
d£p6t for arms originated with him? and finally on this 
glorious night were not the gratitude and admiration of 
the Municipal Council assured? 

Then Granoux spoke in praise of the modesty of his 
friend, whom, he said, no one would ever accuse of ambi- 
tion, and whose delicacy he could fully comprehend. 

Under all this eulogy Rougon bowed his head humbly. 
He murmured two or three times: “Ah! you are going 
too far!” with the little gasps of a man who is being 
tickled. He lay well back among his cushions, and bowed 
to the right and to the left with the grace of a Prince whom 
a Coup d’etat will suddenly transform into an Emperor. 


264 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


When they were tired of this incense they descended to 
stern reality. Granoux started off to find some of the 
City Council, and Rougon decided to go home. As he 
entered his own street he trod in a martial way, and his 
heels resounded on the pavement. He held his hat in his 
hand, for his face was flushed with gratified pride. 

At the foot of the stairs he saw Cassonte, the man he 
had placed there and bidden to stay. He was still there 
with his big head on his hands, looking steadily before him 
with the expression of a faithful dog. 

“ You are waiting for me?” said Pierre. “Very well; 
go and say to Monsieur Macquart that I have come home. 
You will find him at the Mayor’s.” 

Cassonte rose and retired with an awkward bow, to 
Pierre’s great relief, who laughed as he went up the stairs, 
and said half aloud: 

“I certainly have plenty of courage, and plenty of com- 
mon-sense!” 

Felicite had been up all night. He found her in her 
Sunday costume. Her cap, with garnet ribbons, looked as 
if she expected company. In vain had she leaned from 
out her window; she had heard nothing, and was dying 
of curiosity. 

“Well!” she exclaimed, rushing toward her husband, 
who, whistling lightly, swaggered into the yellow salon. 
She followed him and closed the doors behind her. She 
pulled an arm-chair forward, into which he sank, saying 
as he did so: 

“We are all right. I shall have my office.” 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 265 

She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. 

“Is that true?” she cried, in a frenzy of delight. “I 
have heard nothing. Oh! tell me all!” 

She behaved as if she were fifteen, and fluttered around 
him like a moth dazzled by the light. Pierre, in the 
effusion of his victory, opened his heart to her entirely. 
He did not omit a detail, and explained even his future 
projects, forgetting that according to him, women were 
good for nothing, and that a man, if he wished to retain 
his mastery, should always keep them in ignorance. 
F6licit6 drank in all his words, and even made him repeat 
a portion of his narration, saying she did not understand ; 
in fact, joy had really affected her head in such a way that 
there was a strange ringing in her ears. When Pierre told 
her what had taken place at the Mayor’s, she burst into 
hysterical laughter, and changed her seat several times; 
she could not sit still. After forty years of ineffectual 
struggle, they had at last met with success. She was so 
excited that she forgot all prudence. 

“Do you know,” she cried, “that you owe all this to 
me? If I had allowed you to do just as you pleased, you 
would have been victimized by the Insurgents. You 
would have been carried off with the Mayor and all the 
rest.” 

And showing all her yellow teeth, she added, with a 
laugh — 

“ So much for Kepublics ! ” 

But Pierre had grown very sulky. 

“Hold your tongue!” he said. “You always think 


266 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


you foresee everything. It was I who thought of conceal- 
ing myself. Women always think they know something 
about politics. Let me tell you, my old woman, if you 
had managed this ship, you would have run it on a 
rock ! ” 

Felicity shut her lips closely together. She had mo- 
mentarily forgotten the part she intended to play — of a 
good but silent fairy. She fell into one of those dumb 
fits of rage which assailed her when her husband looked 
down on her in a lofty sort of way. She promised her- 
self, when the time came, to take some revenge which 
would deliver Pierre to her, bound hand and foot. 

“ The Receiver-General was taken prisoner, you know/ 
added Pierre, quietly. 

F6licite started. She was standing at the window, and 
looking longingly at the Receiver’s house. She turned, 
and in a strange voice said : 

“ Do you mean that Monsieur Pierotte is arrested ? 99 

She smiled complacently as she spoke ; then a bright 
color suffused her face. She was about to utter the brutal 
words — 

“ I wish the Insurgents would murder him ! 99 

Pierre read her thoughts in her eyes. 

“If some ball should chance to hit him,” he murmured, 
“ it would smooth out everything. He would not be turned 
out, and we should not be blamed.” 

But Felicity shivered. It seemed to her that if she 
assented to these words, it would be like condemning a 
man to death. If Pierotte were killed, he would haunt 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 267 

her dreams, and she would feel as if she had killed him. 
She hardly dared look at the opposite windows, so 
thoroughly was her joy mingled with terror. 

Pierre then proceeded to lay before her all the dis- 
comforts and the weak points of their position. He 
spoke of Macquart. “ How on earth was he to get rid of 
the rascal ? ” 

F6licit6 cried : 

“ We can’t do everything at once! We will find some 
way of silencing him.” 

She moved about the room, dusting and rearranging the 
furniture. Suddenly she stood still and looked at the 
faded hangings. 

“Good heavens!” she said; “how ugly and shabby it 
all is! Just think of the people who will be coming: 
here!” 

“ Pshaw ! ” replied Pierre, in a tone of superb indiffer- 
ence. “ It is easy enough to change all that.” 

He who the evening before held in holy regard the 
chairs and the sofa, was now quite ready to jump on them 
if the fancy had seized him. F6licit6, with the same 
disdain, gave a contemptuous push to an arm-chair that 
was minus a roller. 

Bondier at that moment appeared. It seemed to the 
old lady that he was much more deferential than usual 
in his manner toward herself and Pierre. He was fol- 
lowed by others, and soon the salon was full. No one 
yet knew the details of what had taken place in the 
night, and all hurried, with their eyes starting out of 


268 


THE ROUGON-MACQUAKT FAMILY. 


their heads and smiles on their faces, to hear the truth. 
These gentlemen, who had fled the night before so pre- 
cipitately at the approach of the Insurgents, now came 
back like a swarm of importunate flies that had been 
dispersed by a strong wind. 

Rougon waited for them to speak, and watched the door 
with furtive glances. For an hour there was a succession 
of vague congratulations and admiring murmurs. 

At last Granoux appeared. He stood for a moment 
on the threshold, with his right hand thrust into the 
breast of his coat, endeavoring to conceal his emotion 
under an affectation of great dignity. Every one felt at 
once that something extraordinary was about to take 
place. Granoux walked up to Rougon and extended his 
hand. 

“ My friend,” he said, “ I am the bearer of the respects 
of the City Council. They call you to their head until 
the Mayor returns. You have saved Plassans. Men, 
with your intelligence and courage, are needed in these 
abominable days on which we are fallen. Come — ” 

Granoux hesitated ; for the little discourse he had ar- 
ranged with so much trouble escaped his memory. But 
Rougon grasped his hands and exclaimed : 

“ Thanks, my dear Granoux. I am infinitely obliged 
to you.” 

Then there were exclamations all around the room, 
and a mighty hubbub and shaking of hands ; but Rougon, 
dignified as a Judge, asked for a few moments’ private con- 
ference with Rondier and Granoux. Business before all 
else: the town was in such a critical position ! 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


269 


The three then retired into a corner and talked with 
lowered voices. It was quickly decided that Rougon 
should assume the title of President of the City Council, 
Granoux should be his Secretary, and Rondier would be 
Commander-in-chief of the reorganized National Guards. 
These gentlemen were to support each other under all 
and every trial. 

Felicite came toward them and suddenly said : 

“And Vuillet ? What of him ? ” 

The men looked at each other. No one had seen 
Vuillet. Rougon lifted his eyebrows with a little air of 
anxiety. 

“ Perhaps he was carried off with the others,” he an- 
swered, meditatively. 

But Felicitd shook her head. Vuillet was not the kind 
of man to be swallowed up so easily. She was certain that 
he was concocting some mischief. 

The door opened. Vuillet came in with an obsequious 
bow and thin lips closely compressed. He extended his 
damp hand to Rougon and then to the others. Vuillet 
had been, as F6licit4 thought, cutting his slice out of the 
cake. He had seen the Insurgents through the grating 
of his cellar as they marched away, carrying with them 
the Postmaster. 

He immediately walked into that gentleman’s private 
office. He knew all the employes, and told them he 
would assume the duties of their chief until his return, 
and they need have no anxiety whatever. He proceeded 
to examine the morning’s mail with concealed curiosity. 
17 


270 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

He turned over the letters, seeming to look for one in 
particular. Undoubtedly his new position suited him, for 
in his contented mood he generously presented one of the 
employes with a copy of a work that had been repressed 
by the Censors. 

Vuillet had a choice collection of obscene literature, 
which he concealed in a deep drawer under a layer of 
rosaries and religious engravings. It was he who inun- 
dated the town with photographs which should have been 
burned in the Market Place. His sale of prayer-books, 
however, was in no degree injured by this more lucrative 
business. 

After some consideration, he felt that he might have 
been rather hasty in the manner in which he had taken 
possession of the Post-Office, and went to call on Rougon, 
who was growing into a most puissant individual. 

“ What on earth have you been about ? ” asked F6licit6* 
suspiciously. 

Then he told his story with many embellishments. 
According to him, he had prevented the Post-Office from 
being pillaged. 

“Stay there !” said Pierre, authoritatively, “and make 
yourself useful.” 

This last phrase revealed the real fear of the Rougons. 
They dreaded lest any should be useful but themselves. 
Pierre, however, felt that there could be no serious peril 
to fear while Vuillet was shut up in the Post-Office 
Department. But F6licit6 was not altogether pleased. 

Rougon then proceeded to give his attentive audience 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


271 


an account of the occurrences of the night. He was quite 
magnificent in his dramatic rendering of the events. 
The distribution of the fire-arms was quite thrilling, but 
the description of the march through the deserted streets 
and the seizure of the Mayoralty, struck these worthy 
Bourgeois with stupor. 

“And you were only forty-one in number ?” one said. 

“Upon my word, you were very courageous,” mur- 
mured another. 

These questions excited Rougon’s imagination to greater 
activity. He answered every one; rehearsed the whole 
scene, and took all parts. He repeated the exclamations 
of the Insurgents when they were surprised. In short, he 
was magnificent. 

Granoux burned to tell something himself — Rondier 
was by no means willing to be kept entirely in the back- 
ground, and both interrupted Rougon occasionally — 
sometimes they all spoke at once, and disputed with some 
little sharpness over the order of events. 

Finally Rougon’s narration drew near its close. 

“Fortunately no blood was spilled !” he said. 

“ But was there no firing ? ” asked Felicity, fearing this 
would be regarded as a lame and impotent conclusion. 

“ Oh, yes ! there were guns discharged with culpable 
imprudence.” 

And in reply to a murmur, he continued : 

“Culpable is precisely what I mean. War is cruel 
enough at the best, without the useless shedding of blood. 
One of these balls wounded the cheek of one of the Insur- 
gents.” 


272 THE EOU GON-M ACQUAINT FAMILY. 

This unexpected wound satisfied his hearers, and Rougon 
went on to describe the arrest of his brother, but without 
naming him, simply calling him “the Chief of the Band.” 

“ He leaped upon me,” he said. “ I pushed aside the 
Mayor’s arm-chair, and seized him by the throat. My 
gun was in the way, but I did not care to lay it down. 
In the scuffle it went off.” 

“ No,” exclaimed Granoux, who had been mad to 
speak ; “ I saw it all. The man wished to murder you. 
I saw his black fingers slip through your arm. It was he 
who drew the trigger.” 

“ Is that so ? ” said Rougon, turning very pale. 

He had not been aware of his danger at the time, and 
was now chilled with fear. Granoux was not in the 
habit of lying, but on the day of a great battle a man may 
be excused for seeing things dramatically. 

“ I heard the ball whistle past my ear,” said Rougon, 
in a low, hoarse whisper. 

There was a long silence. Every one was full of 
respect for this great hero, who had heard a ball whistle 
past his ear. Who else among them had had a similar 
experience ? 

Felicite believed it to be her duty to throw herself into 
her husband’s arms. But Rougon gently put her aside, 
and ended his tale by a sentence which is still remembered 
in Plassans : 

“I heard the ball whistle past my ear, and it shivered 
the great mirror over the mantel.” 

The excitement was great. The mirror became an 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


273 


individual, and it was spoken of as if it had been shot 
through the heart. 

Finally Rougon and his two deputies announced that 
they must go to the Mayor’s office. Granoux was burst- 
ing with importance, and as he left the room, he took 
Rougon’s arm with the air of a great captain exhausted by 
fatigue, murmuring: 

“ I have been on my feet for thirty-six hours, and 
Heaven only knows when I shall be allowed to get to 
bed ! ” 

Before Rougon went away he took Vuillet aside, and 
told him he must at once publish an article, treating as 
they deserved the rascally band, which had been seen in 
Plassans. 

The habitues of the yellow salon were not now disposed 
to linger there long. They were eager to publish to the 
world all the news they had gathered, and quickly dis- 
persed : Felicite from her window saw them hurrying 
down the street. 

It was now between ten and eleven. Plassans at last was 
wide awake, and in a great state of excitement. Rumors 
were in circulation that thousands of bandits had invaded 
the streets, and disappeared at dawn like an army of 
phantoms. Some skeptics shrugged their shoulders. But 
as certain details were very precise, Plassans began to 
believe that a terrible misfortune had hung over them, 
but had not touched them. This vague horror and 
mystery made even the bravest shudder. Who had 
turned away the lightning? They spoke of unknown 


x 


274 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

preservers — of a little band of men, who had boldly 
severed the head of this Hydra, but no one knew who these 
noble creatures were, until the habitues of the yellow salon 
appeared in the street and disseminated the news. It 
went like a train of powder, and ran from one end of the 
town to the other in the shortest conceivable time. Rou- 
gon ’s name was in every mouth, accompanied with excla- 
mations of surprise in the Ville Neuve, and with eulogy in 
the old Quartier. 

The idea that they were without a Sub-Prefect— without 
a Mayor — without a Postmaster, without, in fact, author- 
ities of any kind, horrified the citizens. They could not 
understand how they could have slept through events of 
such importance and then awakened as usual. The first 
stupor over, they looked eagerly for their liberators. 

Some of the Republicans shrugged their shoulders, but 
the small shopkeepers, all the Conservatives in short, 
blessed these heroes, whose exploits had been shrouded in 
darkness. 

When it was known that Rougon had arrested his own 
brother, their admiration knew no bounds. Allusions 
were made to Brutus, and this indiscretion which he 
feared would do him harm, added to his glory. The 
gratitude was unanimous, and Rougon was accepted as 
their preserver. 

“Just think of it!” said those who were cowards. 
“They were only forty-one of them.” 

The story ran through Plassans that forty-one of the 
citizens had compelled three thousand rebels to eat the 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


275 


dust. Some of the dwellers in La Ville Neuve — lawyers 
without cases, and old military men who were ashamed of 
their slumbers on that eventful night — ventured to raise a 
doubt. Why were there no proofs of this hand-to-hand 
combat? No dead bodies — no stains of blood? It was 
certainly very strange. 

“ But the mirror ! ” repeated the fanatics. “ Surely you 
can’t deny that the Mayor’s mirror was broken ! You can 
go and look at it for yourself!” 

And all day long, until nightfall, there was a proces- 
sion of individuals going in and out of the Mayor’s room, 
looking at the round hole in the mirror, with its radiating 
fractures. Then one after the other said precisely the same 
words : “ Bless my soul ! That ball had some strength ! ” 
And they went away quite convinced. 

F^licite, at her window, drank in with delight all this 
hum of praise rising from the town, which at this hour 
was exclusively occupied with her husband. The hour 
of her triumph was near at hand, and she looked for- 
ward to grinding the town under her heel. All the past 
bitterness of her life came back to her and sharpened her 
present enjoyment. 

She left her window and walked slowly up and down 
the room, which seemed to her absolutely sanctified. Was 
it not here that her husband had been flattered and 
eulogized ? Was it not here that the Bourgeois had hum- 
bled themselves? The shabby furniture, the worn velvet 
and tarnished gilding, all assumed in her eyes the aspect 
of the glorious relics found on a field of battle. The 


276 THE KOUGON-MACQUAUT FAMILY. 

plain of Austerlitz never awakened a more profound 
emotion. 

She went to the window once more, and seeing Aristide 
on the Square, she beckoned to him ; but he did not choose 
to answer her appeal. 

She called him. 

“Come up!” she said. “Your father is not here.” 

Aristide came in with the air of a Prodigal son. For 
four years he had not entered this room. His arm was 
still in a sling. 

“ Your hand still pains you, then?” asked his mother, 
half laughing. 

He colored, and with some embarrassment, replied : 

“ Oh ! it is better ; it is nearly well ! ” 

Then he turned away, not knowing what to say. 

Felicity took compassion on him. 

“You have heard of your father’s beautiful conduct?” 
she said. 

He answered that the whole town was talking of it, and 
then his usual confidence returned. He looked his mother 
full in the face, and returned the smile with which she had 
inquired about his arm. 

“ I came to see if my father was wounded.” 

“Nonsense!” answered Felicity, petulantly. “Why 
don’t you act as if you had common-sense? Come forward 
boldly. Acknowledge that you made a mistake in joining 
the Republicans. You will not be sorry if you enrol 
yourself on our side.” 

But Aristide protested. “ Republicanism was a great 
idea,” he said. 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


277 


“I understand you,” answered his mother, warmly. 
“You are afraid your father will receive you badly; but 
I will arrange all that. Take my advice; write an 
article which will appear to-morrow in praise of the Coup 
d’Etat, and then come here in the evening, and you will be 
received with open arms.” 

And as the young man was still silent, she continued, in 
an earnest tone : 

“Do you not understand. Our good fortune is also 
yours. Do not be silly. You are seriously compromised 
unless you join us at once.” 

The young man made a gesture — the gesture of Caesar 
passing the Rubicon. He made no verbal engagement; 
but as he was about to leave, his mother caught the end 
of the scarf which bound his arm. 

“ First, let me take off this thing ! It is ridiculous, you 
know !” 

Aristide allowed her to remove the silk scarf. He took 
it from her, folded it smoothly, and placed it in his pocket. 
He then kissed his mother, and said he would see her the 
next day. 

Rougon had, in the meantime, taken formal possession 
of the Mayoralty. There were but eight of the Council 
left — the others were in the hands of the Insurgents. 
These eight gentlemen were thrown into an agony of terror 
when the critical position of the town was laid clearly 
before them. The municipal machine belonged to any one 
who understood its workings. Rougon was by force of 
circumstances the absolute master of the town — a most ex- 
traordinary crisis which could place this power in the 


278 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

hands of a man of tarnished reputation, to whom twenty- 
four hours before, not a person in the town would have 
lent one hundred francs. 

Pierre’s first act was to announce the permanence of the 
Provisionary Commission. Then he busied himself with 
the reorganization of the National Guards. He got to- 
gether about three hundred of the old men, distributed 
the arms which he had stored, and over five hundred 
soldiers were placed under the command of Rondier, who, 
when he reviewed his little army in the Square, was 
made utterly miserable by seeing that the vegetable 
merchants were secretly laughing. His men were with- 
out uniforms, and their black hats, coats and guns were 
singularly unharmonious. But their intentions w’ere 
good. A detachment was left at the door of the May- 
oralty, and the rest were distributed at the different doors 
of the city. 

Rougon went to La Rue Canquoin to ask the gendarmes 
to remain on the side of Law and Order. He directed the 
doors to be broken open, for the Insurgents had carried 
away the keys. He told them that he should call on them, 
if he required their services ; but in the meantime all he 
asked of them was inaction. The Brigadier complimented 
him on his prudence. Rougon, hearing that there was a 
wounded man there, asked to see him, as he thought this 
would tend to his popularity. He found Rengade lying 
down, with his eye bandaged. He talked to him of Duty 
and of many other similarly comforting things — the blind 
man cursing and swearing all the time : for he knew that 


THE ROUGCXN-MACQUART FAMILY. 279 

this wound would compel him to leave the service. Pierre 
promised to send a physician to him. 

“ Thank you, sir,” answered Rengade ; “ but what 
would do me more good than anything else, would be to 
wring the neck of the little rascal that put out my eye. I 
should know him instantly. He was a pale fellow — very 
young.” 

Pierre remembered the blood he had seen on Silvered 
hands. He retreated a little as if he feared that the suf- 
ferer would spring at his throat, and shout out : 

“ It was your nephew who blinded me ! You shall pay 
for it.” 

And while Pierre silently cursed every member of his 
family connection, he declared solemnly that if the fellow 
could be found he should be punished with the extreme 
rigor of the law. 

“No, no; you need not take the trouble, for I intend 
to wring his neck for him,” answered the blind man. 

The Proclamation which appeared early in the day pro- 
duced an excellent impression ; and the streets until twi- 
light offered an appearance of general relief and restored 
confidence. 

A report, coming from no one knew whence, was in 
circulation, to the effect that the troops sent in pursuit of 
the Insurgents were approaching. People straggled out on 
the high road, with the hope of hearing the music, but 
returned greatly disappointed, having seen and heard 
nothing. 

Uneasiness began to be felt once more, and the 


280 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


members of the Provisionary Commission were particularly 
disturbed. Rougon, attributing this to the fact of their 
having had no dinner, sent them off, bidding them come 
back at nine o’clock. He was himself about to leave when 
Macquart awoke, and began to pound violently on the 
door of his prison. 

He declared he was hungry, and asked what time it 
was; and when his brother said it was five o’clock, he 
grumblingly replied that his friends ought to have been 
back before that hour, and they would soon appear. 
Rougon sent him something to eat, and then departed, 
considerably disturbed by Macquart’s persistence in speak- 
ing of the return of the Insurgents. 

In the streets his uneasiness increased. The aspect of 
the town seemed to him changed. Silent shadows flitted 
along the sidewalks, and over the mournful houses seemed 
to fall, with the twilight, a gray fear as persistent as a fine 
rain. The foolish confidence felt during the day added 
to this equally foolish and unreasoning terror of the night. 
The inhabitants were weary to that degree, that they had 
hardly strength to wonder, what reprisals the Insurgents 
would take. Rougon shivered with terror as he hurried 
on. As he passed the Cafe on the corner where the lamps 
were just lighted, he heard a word or two that frightened 
him still more. 

“You know,” said a coarse voice, “that it is thought 
the soldiers have been massacred by the rebels ! ” 

There was a horrified exclamation from many voices. 
Rougon was tempted to go in, and laugh at their credulity; 


THE ROUGON-MACQUAIiT FAMILY. 


281 


but as he was by no means easy in his own mind he did 
not venture to do this. When he met his wife at his own 
door, she reproached him for his down-heartedness, but 
when the dessert was on the table she comforted him 
again. 

“ Don’t you see,” she said, “ that it is a great gain to us 
if the Prefect does forget us ? We shall have saved the 
town all the same. I should like the rebels to come back; 
we could receive them as they deserve, and cover ourselves 
with glory. Listen to my advice : go yourself, and close 
the gates of the town ; then do not go to sleep all night, 
but move about a good deal, and keep yourself before the 
public as much as possible: it will all count in your favor 
later.” 

Pierre returned to his colleagues considerably cheered. 
The members of the Council came in one after the other, 
bringing panic in their garments as we carry about the 
smell of rain on a stormy day. They declared they were 
to be abandoned to the fury of a mob, and Pierre promised 
that he would send for a regiment of soldiers the next day. 
Then he told them he was about to have the gates closed. 
The National Guards repaired to the gates, shut and locked 
them, and when they returned, the Council seemed much 
relieved. Pierre told them that the critical condition of 
the town made it necessary for him to remain at his post 
all night, and asked if they would do the same. They 
rendered a cordial assent, and about eleven o’clock all these 
gentlemen were soundly sleeping in the Mayor’s arm-chairs 
and on his sofas. 


282 


THE ROU GON-M ACQU ART FAMILY. 


A tall lamp on the desk lighted the strange scene. 
Rougon suddenly started up and sent for Vuillet, whose 
promised article he remembered not having seen. 

The Librarian soon appeared, and in not the best possible 
humor. 

“Well!” said Rougon, “where is your article?” 

“Did you send for me on that account?” asked Vuillet, 
angrily. “The paper itself was not issued. I really did 
not care to be massacred to-morrow, if the rebels should 
chance to return ! ” 

Rougon forced a smile, saying that he did not think 
there was much danger of this event taking place. It was 
precisely to quell just such foolish rumors that the article 
was required, and would have done excellent service in a 
good cause. 

“I dare say,” returned Vuillet; “but the best cause, it 
strikes me now, is to keep one’s head on one’s shoulders. 
No,” he added with a sneer; “I thought you had killed 
all the Insurgents, but I find you have left too many for 
me to run any risk.” 

Rougon, as the man left the room, sat aghast at the 
impertinence of this man, who w*as ordinarily so humble, 
lie could not comprehend it, but he had no time to seek 
for an explanation, for Rondier entered, making a great 
noise with the sabre that was fastened at his side. 

All the sleepers started up, thinking it was a call to 
arms. 

“ Gentlemen,” said Rondier, “ I think the Insurgents are 
upon us!” 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


283 


These words were received in dismal silence. Rougon 
alone had strength to say : 

“ Have you seen them ? ” 

“ No ; but we hear very strauge noises in the environs 
of the town, and one of my men affirms that he saw mys- 
terious fires kindled along the mountain side.” 

And as the gentlemen looked at each other with scared 
faces, he added : 

“ I am going back to my post. I am in fear of some 
attack. I have done my duty and warned you.” 

Rougon tried to detain him, but his efforts were useless. 
The Council tore their hair. Strange noises ! Mysterious 
fires ! What a frightful night this was ! What should 
they do! Granoux advised the same tactics which had 
served them so well the night before, that is, to hide them- 
selves and wait until the rebels had left Plassans, and then 
emerge from their concealment and take possession of the 
deserted streets. Pierre, remembering what his wife had 
said, told them that Rondier could easily be mistaken, and 
that the best way was to see for themselves. 

The Council made a wry face at this, but when it was 
agreed that an armed escort should accompany them, their 
courage revived. With thirty of the National Guards 
they ventured into the sleeping town. They went along 
the ramparts from gate to gate, seeing nothing, hearing 
nothing. The National Guards at the different posts as- 
serted that they had heard no strange sounds from outside, 
and when Granoux listened himself he could distinguish 
nothing save the clamor of the Viorne. 


284 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

Yet their anxiety was not altogether calmed, and they 
returned with preoccupied minds, although they pretended 
to shrug their shoulders and spoke of Rondier as a visionary. 
Suddenly Rougon, who wished to reassure his friends, de- 
termined to show them the plain. He led his little troop 
to the Quartier Saint-Marc, and knocked at the Hotel 
Valqueyras. 

The Count had left Plassans for his chateau, and there 
was no one in the hotel except the Marquis de Carnavant, 
who, since the previous evening, had remained quietly 
within doors, not out of fear, but because he was unwilling 
to be seen, at this decisive moment, too much with the 
Rougon faction. 

He was extremely curious to know what was going on 
in the yellow salon, and when a valet came to tell him, in 
the middle of the night, that there were some gentlemen 
below, who wished to see him, he could be prudent no 
longer, but hurried down. 

“ My dear Marquis,” said Rougon, presenting the mem- 
bers of the Municipal Commission, “ we have a great 
favor to ask of you. Will you allow us to go into the 
garden ? ” 

“ Certainly,” answered the astonished gentleman. “I 
will go with you myself.” 

And as they went the Marquis heard the reason of this 
extraordinary request. The garden terminated in a ter- 
race, which overlooked the plain, and from this spot a 
limitless stretch of land was outspread before them. 

Rougon saw at once that no better post for observation 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


285 


could be obtained. The National Guards remained in the 
background, and the members of the Commission leaned 
over the parapet of the terrace. The strange sight before 
them silenced them completely. Afar off, in the valley, 
ran the river, between the Garrigues and La Seille, the 
moonlight falling on the water. Groups of trees and 
sombre rocks, on tongues of land, stretched out into this 
sea of light. 

Granoux, though by no means of a poetical tempera- 
ment, was so moved by the serene peace of this wintry 
scene that he said : 

“A most beautiful night, gentlemen.” 

“Rondier has certainly been dreaming!” said Rougon, 
with some disdain. 

But the Marquis had acute ears. 

“ Hark! ” he whispered, “ I hear the tocsin.” 

They all leaned over the parapet and held their breath, 
and lightly, with a crystal-like sound, the far-off tinkle 
of a bell was heard. 

It was certainly the tocsin. Rougon declared it to be 
the bell at Beage, a village a full league from Plassans. 
He said this to reassure his colleagues. 

“ Listen! Listen!” interrupted the Marquis. “This 
time it is certainly the bell of Saint-Maur w^e hear! ” 

This second bell was instantly followed by another, and 
another, until twenty were ringing as rapidly as possible — 
the whole plain joined in the desperate appeal. The Mar- 
quis, who rather enjoyed terrifying Rougon, was quite 
willing to explain the cause of all this commotion. 

18 


286 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

“It means,” lie said, “that the neighboring villages are 
mustering, and intend to attack Plassans at daybreak.” 

Granoux half closed his eyes. 

“Do you see nothing down there?” he asked. 

No one heard him or paid any attention to what he said, 
but shut their eyes to hear better. 

“Look! ” he resumed, after a momentary silence. “Do 
you see nothing close to the shore?” 

“Yes — I see,” replied Rougon, desperately; “it is a 
fire—” 

Another fire was lighted almost immediately opposite 
the other; then a third and a fourth. Red spots appeared 
all along the valley, at almost equal distances, like the 
lamps in a gigantic avenue. The moon, now sinking rap- 
idly, made these lights look like pools of blood. This 
sinister illumination completed the consternation of the 
Council. 

“Upon my life !” sneered the Marquis, “the brigands 
have a very pretty system of signals ! ” 

And he counted the fires, in order to ascertain, he 
said, how many men were to fight with the brave fellows 
of Plassans. Rougon was disposed to suggest doubts, and 
to say that the villages were simply signalling their inten- 
tion of joining the Insurgents, and had no intention of 
attacking Plassans. But his hearers, by their silence, 
showed that their minds were made up, and that they 
refused all consolation. 

“ I hear the Marseillaise,” said Granoux, in a despairing 
tone. 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


287 


He was correct. A band had followed the-Viorne, and, 
as they approached the town, broke out with the words : 

“ To arras, citizens — form your ranks ! ” 

It was really a most extraordinary night ! These gen- 
tlemen spent it with their elbows on the parapet, stiff with 
cold, but unable to tear themselves from this spectacle of 
this vast plain, shaken by the Marseillaise and the tocsin, 
and all aflame with signal fires. 

Before their eyes blazed this luminous sea, and in their 
ears resounded this wild clamor. They were finally unable 
to separate what they really saw and heard from the work 
of their imagination. 

On no account would they have left this place; had 
they turned their backs, they would have fancied that the 
enemy were in hot pursuit. Toward morning, however, 
when the moon had set, they were seized by a horrible 
panic, fancying that invisible shadows were hiding among 
the trees, ready to leap at their throats. The slightest 
noise they heard, they construed into men whispering and 
consulting at the foot of the terrace before scaling it. 

The Marquis, as if to console them, said, in his ironical 
voice : 

“Do not be disturbed — they will wait until daybreak!” 

Rougon stormed and cursed. He felt horribly afraid. 
Granoux’s hair turned white. At last day came slowly 
on. It was a horrible moment of suspense to these gentle- 
men, for they fully expected to see an army ranged in a 
line-of-battle before the town. 

With extended neck and eager eyes they peered through 


288 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


the slowly dissipating mists of the night. And in the 
vague shadows they saw monstrous sights : the plain 
transformed into a lake of blood — the rocks were dead 
bodies floating on its surface — the trees were battalions of 
armed men ! At last, when the dawn had effaced these 
phantoms, the day was so cold, so pale and sad, that even 
the Marquis was depressed. There were no Insurgents 
to be seen — the highway was clear ; but the gray valley 
had a cut-throat aspect. The fires were extinguished, but 
the bells still sounded. About eight o’clock Rougon 
caught sight of a band of men creeping along the shores 
of the river. 

Our friends were nearly dead with cold, hunger, and 
fatigue. Not seeing any immediate peril, they decided to 
take a few hours of repose. A sentinel was left on the 
terrace with orders to warn Rondier if he saw anything 
unusual. Granoux and Rougon, prostrated by the emo- 
tions of the night, hurried to their homes. They lived 
near each other. 

Felicity received her husband with the greatest tender- 
ness. She called him “ poor dear,” and prophesied that 
all would end well ; but he shook his head. She allowed 
him to sleep until eleven o’clock ; then, after giving him 
a good breakfast, hurried him away. 

At the Mayor’s room Rougon met only four of the 
Council. The others sent excuses : they were really ill. 
Terror had taken violent possession of the whole town, for 
the gentlemen who had spent the night on the terrace of 
the H6tel Valqueyras did not keep their experience 


THE ROUGON-M ACQU ART FAMILY. 289 

• 

a secret, but told it to all their acquaintances with the 
addition of many a dramatic incident. In fact many 
persons in Plassans believed that these gentlemen had 
witnessed cannibals dancing and devouring their pris- 
oners ; sorcerers stirring the caldrons, wherein simmered 
the dissevered bodies of children, and an interminable file 
of bandits, whose arms glittered in the mingled light of 
fire and moon. They talked, too, of the bells, which 
sounded the alarm, as rang by hands that were not of this 
world, and declared that the Insurgents had set fire to the 
forests in the environs, and that all the country was 
aflame. 

It was Tuesday, market day at Plassans. Rondier 
wanted the gates thrown open to admit the peasants with 
their vegetables, butter, and eggs. As soon as the Council 
assembled, five in number, including the President, it was 
decided that this would be most culpable imprudence, and 
that the gates must be kept closed. Then Rougon decided 
that the public crier must go through the streets, and 
proclaim the town to be in a state of siege, and then no 
one could pass through the gates, either to go out or to 
pass in. The gates were officially closed at mid-day, 
therefore. This step, taken to reassure the public mind, 
only drove people wild with terror ; and nothing could be 
more curious than to see this town, in the nineteenth 
century, in mid-day, thus bolted and barred. 

When Plassans had buckled tight its belt of ramparts, 
which was bolted like a besieged fortress under fire, 
there was nothing more for the inhabitants to do but to 


290 THE KOUGON-MACQTJART FAMILY. 

wait the progress of events. They were in momentary 
expectation of hearing the firing break forth. Nothing 
was known of what was going on in the outside world. 
For two days the Insurgents had interrupted all communi- 
cation between Plassans and the rest of France. Around 
them rang the tocsin and the Marseillaise, with its sound 
of a torrent let free, and the town were mad with mingled 
fear and hope. 

About two o’clock the report was circulated that the 
Coup d’fltat had been a disastrous failure ; that the Prince 
President was a prisoner in Vincennes ; that Paris was in 
the hands of the demagogues, and that Marseilles, Toulon, 
and all the South, in fact, were in the power of the 
victorious Insurrectionists, who would march on Plassans 
that night, and murder the inhabitants. 

A deputation waited on the Municipal Council to 
reproach them for having closed the gates, which would 
naturally add to the irritation of the Insurgents. Rougon 
lost his head, and defended his orders. They asked him 
where the soldiers were that he had promised. He then 
told a square lie, and declared he had promised none. 
The absence of this much-talked-of regiment was, in 
reality, the principal cause of the panic. The best in- 
formed people undertook to name the very spot where 
these unfortunate soldiers had been massacred. 

At four o’clock the Council, with Rougon at their head, 
were again on the terrace at OrchSres. The cold was 
insufferable. There was nothing to be seen, and they 
agreed that it was useless to linger there. Rondier, of 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


291 


course, must keep watch and guard. Poor Rondier, who 
had been a member of the National Guard under Louis 
Philippe, accepted his position meekly. 

Pierre went home through the most unfrequented streets. 
He felt that his popularity was on the wane. He heard 
his name at every corner, and with it some contemptuous 
epithet or sneer. His wife received him in silent con- 
sternation, for she, too, had begun to despair. Could it 
be that their dream was to vanish thus? And they sat 
and looked at each other in the yellow salon. The day 
was fading — a dark, wintry day, which gave a dingy look 
to the orange paper, with its huge branches. Never had 
the room looked so dingy and sordid. They were alone. 
Rot a soul was left of the crowd who congratulated them 
the evening before. One day had seen them conquered 
and browbeaten, and if the following twenty-four hours 
were not more propitious, their game was lost. F6licit6, 
who the night before had dreamed of Austerlitz, thought 
now of Waterloo. 

Then, as her husband said nothing, she went to the 
window — to the window where she had gazed with such 
longing upon the house opposite. She saw a number of 
persons on the Square and closed the blinds, fearing 
she would be hissed, or the glasses broken by missiles. 
She felt that these people were looking up at her windows, 
and talking of herself and her husband. 

One voice was high above the others. 

“ I told you that the Insurgents would not ask per- 
mission of the forty-one to return. The forty-one! 
What a preposterous farce it all was!” 


292 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


“ There was no fighting whatever,” answered his com- 
panion. “ I went myself to see, and the court-yard, at 
the Mayor’s, was as clean as my hand ! ” 

A workman, who had timidly joined the group, added : 

“ It did not require much to take possession of the 
Mayoralty. The doors were not even shut.” 

A laugh greeted this sentence, which so encouraged the 
workman that he added : 

“ This Rougon does not amount to much anyway.” 

This insult cut Felicity to the heart. The ingratitude 
overwhelmed her. She called her husband, that he, too, 
might read this lesson of the instability of the masses. 

“ The mirror that was broken is about all that took 
place,” continued the first speaker, “ of any consequence, 
and I believe that Rougon fired at it deliberately to make 
believe there had been some fray.” 

Pierre uttered a low cry of pain. By-and-by, some 
one would say that he had never heard a ball whistle past 
his ear, and there would not be a vestige of his glory left. 
But this was not all. A hoary-headed scandal-monger 
now narrated, with many hesitations for lack of memory, 
the tale of Adelaide’s affair with the smuggler. His story 
aroused new indignation, and the words, “ thieves — rabble 
— shameless wretches ! ” rose to the casement, behind 
which Rougon and Felicity listened with fear and anger. 
Then some one uttered a few words of compassion for 
Macquart. Yesterday Rougon had been looked upon as a 
modern Brutus, who sacrificed his family affections on the 
altar of his country. But to-day Rougon was only an 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 29$ 

adventurer, who had trampled down his brother, and used 
him as a footstool to raise himself. 

“ You hear ! ” murmured Pierre. “ You hear what these 
people say ? We are lost ! ” 

Felicity drummed on the blind with stiffened fingers, 
and answered : 

“ Let them say what they will. If we end by being the 
strongest, they will see with what wood I can warm myself. 
I know whence comes this blow. It is from the Ville 
Neuve.” 

And Madame Rougon was right. The sudden unpop- 
ularity of her husband was due to a few lawyers who were 
much vexed at the importance which had been thrust upon, 
or assumed by, this illiterate and almost bankrupt merchant. 

They declared that Rondier and Granoux were excellent 
men, who were deceived by that rascal, Rougon. But for 
him Granoux would have been Mayor pro tem. Nothing 
that Rougon had done was wise, or had even a grain of 
sense in it. His closing the gates was an absolute act 
of folly, and it was his fault that five members of the 
Council had been taken with inflammation of the lungs in 
consequence of their exposure on the terrace of the 
Hotel Valqueyras. 

The Republicans were considerably encouraged by this 
obvious discontent, and they began to discuss the possibility 
of taking some active steps. 

Rougon had a happy thought. 

“Was not Aristide,” he asked, “coming to-night to 
make peace?” 

“Yes,” answered F6licit6, “he promised a splendid 
article, but the paper did not appear.” 


294 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. . 

Her husband interrupted her quickly. 

“ Is not that he, just going out of the Sub-Prefect’s ? ” 

“ Certainly it is,” cried his wife, glancing out, “ and he 
has put the scarf on his arm again.” 

Yes, it was true, Aristide had resumed his sling. The 
Empire was not established, nor were the Republicans in 
power; therefore he deemed it expedient to resume his 
role of a wounded man. He crossed the Square without 
looking up, and disappeared around the corner. 

“ No, he is not coming up,” said F6licit6, bitterly. “ We 
are low down now, and our children desert us.” 

She closed the window that she might hear no more, and 
when she had lighted the lamp they dined ; but their food 
was left on their plates ; in their discouragement they 
forgot to eat. They had little time to decide on the course 
they should adopt. Unless Plassans was at their feet by 
the next morning, they must make up their minds to see 
Fortune slip from beyond their grasp. 

The absolute lack of certain intelligence was the only 
cause of this trouble. This Felicite, with her quick intui- 
tion, instantly perceived. If they knew the result of the 
Coup d’Etat, they could play their role with undiminished 
audacity, either keeping up their parts as saviours of the 
town, or compel people to forget that they had made 
such preposterous claims. But as they knew nothing pre- 
cisely, they lost their head at the idea of staking every- 
thing on that throw of the dice while in this lamentable 
state of dense ignorance. 

“ And that devil of a Eugene has not written me ! ” cried 
Rougon, despairingly, without remembering that this 


THE ItOUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 295 

exclamation revealed to his wife what he supposed to be a 
secret from her. 

But Felicite pretended not to have heard. But she 
asked herself with a sudden sinking of her heart why it 
was that they had not heard from Eugene. He had kept 
them faithfully informed of the success of the Bonapartist 
cause, and should also have hastened to announce the tri- 
umph or defeat of Prince Louis. Simple prudence would 
have counselled this. If, therefore, he was silent, it must 
be because a Republican victory had consigned him to the 
prison at Vincennes. Felicit6 shivered. Her son’s 
unbroken silence destroyed her last hope. 

At this moment the Gazette was brought in, fresh and 
damp. 

"Is it possible,” exclaimed Pierre, "that Vuillet has 
issued his paper after all ! ” 

He hastily opened it, read the heading of an article, 
and sank back in his chair. 

“ Read ! ” he said, faintly ; and held the paper to Felicity. 

It was a superb article — extremely severe toward the 
Insurgents. Never before had so much venom and so 
many falsehoods fallen from one pen! Vuillet began by 
describing their entrance into Plassans — “ These bandits, 
this scum of the earth, invaded the town,” he wrote, "drunk 
with brandy, luxury and pillage.” Then he went on to 
say that they terrified the populace by their savage cries 
and threats of assassination. 

The scene at the Hotel de Ville and the arrest of the 
authorities was an atrocious deed: they took the most 


296 


THE KOUGON-MACQTJAKT FAMILY. 


respectable men by the throat, the Mayor, the Commander 
of the National Guards, the Postmaster — in fact, all the 
functionaries — spat in their faces, and crowned them with 
thorns, so to speak. 

Vuillet spoke of twenty girls in scarlet raiment. Poor 
little Miette had been thus multiplied. 

“And among these monsters, ” he wrote, “were shame- 
less creatures clad in red, as if they had been rolled in the 
blood of the martyrs whom these assassins had murdered 
and left to die on the road-side. They waved their flags, 
and abandoned themselves openly to the ignoble caresses 
of the entire horde ! ” 

This was the beginning of the article, which wound up 
with a virulent peroration; Vuillet asking if France 
would submit any longer to “these wild beasts, who 
respected neither property nor people.” He made an 
appeal to all brave citizens, saying that longer toleration 
would be absolute encouragement, and that the Insurgents 
would “ tear the daughter from the mother, the wife from 
the arms of her husband.” Finally, after a well-worded 
sentence in which he declared that God wished these mis- 
creants to be exterminated, he ended by these words: 

“We hear that these scoundrels are again at our doors; 
so be it ! Let each of us take a gun and kill them, as we 
would dogs. I shall be found in the first rank, glad that 
I have it in my power to assist in exterminating such ver- 
min from the earth ! ” 

This article — a combination of Provincial heaviness and 
ordinary abuse — utterly appalled Pougon. 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 297 

“This is the last drop in our cup,” he murmured; 
“ they will all believe that I inspired this diatribe.” 

“ But,” said his wife, thoughtfully, “ did you not tell 
me this morning that he absolutely refused to attack Re- 
publicanism? You said he was frightened and pale as 
death.” 

“ Yes, to be sure — I do not understand in the least.” 

Neither did Felicity ; the thought of this man, musket 
in hand, patrolling the ramparts, seemed to her one of the 
most extraordinary things she had ever heard of. There 
was certainly something underneath which they had not 
got at. She felt certain that if the rebels were at the 
gates of the city, Vuillet would never have uttered these 
threats. 

“ He is a bad man. I have always said so,” resumed 
Rougon, as he laid down the paper. “ I was altogether 
too good-natured in allowing him to stay in the Post- 
Office.” 

These words were a flash of inspiration to Felicite, who 
started to her feet. She threw on a hat and shawl. 

“What now?” asked her husband. “It is after nine 
o’clock. Are you going out ? ” 

“You can go to bed,” she replied. “You are tired, of 
course ; I am not. You can rest. Sleep while you can — 
I will wake you when I come back, and we will talk 
then.” 

She went out with an alert step, and hurried to the 
Post-Office. She entered Yuillet’s private room. He 
started when he saw her. Never had Vuillet been so 


298 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


happy as in his present position. Every letter underwent 
his personal examination ; he turned them all over and 
over, smelt of them, rapped them lightly with his 
knuckles. His temptation was as great as his pleasure, 
for the secrets of all Plassans were there — secrets which 
involved the honor of women, the fortunes of men — and 
he had but to break the seals in order to become the con- 
fidant of the best people in town. Besides, the Librarian 
could sin with impunity just at the time of which we 
write, for if some letters were delayed, and if others were 
lost entirely, the blame would be laid at the door of the 
Republicans, who had disturbed all communication. The 
shutting of the gates disturbed his calculations in some 
degree, but it was finally settled that the mail was to be 
allowed to come in. 

He had unsealed several letters — those which his in- 
stinct told him contained intelligence likely to be of use 
to him. These he kept in a drawer, intending to dis- 
tribute them later — after he had acquired a reputation for 
courage, when all the rest of the town shook in their 
shoes. 

Our readers will admit that this astute being had fully 
understood the situation. When Madame Rougon entered, 
he was turning over an immense mass of letters and papers, 
apparently sorting them. He rose with his usual obse- 
quious smile, and drew forward a chair; his red eyelids 
quivered uneasily. But F6licit6 did not sit down; she 
said, quietly, but sternly : 

“ I want the letter.” 


THE ROU GON-M ACQTJ ART FAMILY. 299 

Vuillet half shut his eyes with an innocent sort of look. 

“ What letter, dear lady ? ” he asked. 

“The letter you received this morning for my husband. 
Please be quick, sir, as I am really in great haste.” 

As he stammered and equivocated, saying that he had 
seen no letter, and that it was certainly very odd, Felicite 
interrupted him with a certain menace in her voice : 

“ The letter in question is from Paris — from my son, 
Eugene. You know now, I fancy; but I will find it 
myself.” 

She extended her hand, as if to turn over several pack- 
ages of letters, which lay on the desk. He hastily inter- 
fered, and said he would look. The service was so very 
imperfect just then. Perhaps there might be a letter for 
her, after all, and if there were, of course it would be 
found. But he had not seen it, that was quite certain. 

As he spoke he walked hastily about the room, and 
seemed to be looking among all the papers. Then he 
opened drawers and boxes, Felicite waiting calmly all this 
time. 

“You are right,” he at last exclaimed, taking some 
papers from a box. “Ah ! these clerks, they take advan- 
tage of the present crisis to do nothing as it ought to be 
done!” 

Felicite took the letter and examined the seal, not 
appearing to be in the least disturbed that her evident 
mistrust must wound her companion. She saw at once 
that the envelope had been opened, for the Librarian had 
fastened it with a wax that was somewhat deeper in color 


300 


THE ROUG ON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


than the original seal. She opened the envelope in such 
a way that the seal was uninjured, as she felt that some 
time she might want to use this testimony. 

Eugene announced, in a few brief words, the complete 
success of the Coup d’fitat. He announced their complete 
victory. Paris was conquered. The Provinces would not 
dare lift a finger, and he advised his parents to stand firm 
in the partial insurrection which now disturbed the South. 
He told them that their fortunes were made, if they did 
not now flinch. 

Madame Bougon put her letter in her pocket, and then 
seated herself, looking V uillet full in his face. He pre- 
tended to be very busy, and would not look at her. 

“ Listen to me, Monsieur Vuillet,” she said. “Let us 
lay our cards on the table! You are making a great 
mistake, which will do you harm. If, instead of opening 
my letters — ” 

He straightened himself up, pretending to be much 
offended; but she calmly continued: 

“ I know you well ; you will never acknowledge it. 
But it is useless to waste words in this way. I think you 
would do better to be frank — ” 

And as he continued to talk about his honesty, she at 
last lost all patience. 

“ Do you think me a fool ? ” she cried. “ Have I not 
read your article ? ” 

She at last induced him to admit that the thing of all 
others he preferred was to have the college custom. It 
had been his once; but when the Faculty discovered 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 301 

that he sold obscene engravings to the pupils, he was 
dismissed, and came near being sent to the House of 
Correction. 

Felicity seemed much astonished at the modesty of his 
ambition. To violate the seals of letters, to risk the gal- 
leys — merely to sell a few dictionaries ! 

“ Oh ! ” he said, in a sharp voice, “ five thousand francs 
per annum is not such a trifle in my eyes. I do not ask, 
like some people, for impossibilities.” 

She did not reply, and there was no more said about 
breaking open letters. A treaty of alliance was concluded, 
by which Vuillet promised to do all that they desired of 
him, provided the Rougons would assure him the custom 
of the college. When she left him, F6licit6 enjoined 
caution upon him, and told him that all the letters must 
be distributed the next day. 

She returned home with slow, thoughtful steps, and 
even took a longer way that she might have more time 
for reflection. Under the trees she met the Marquis de 
Carnavant, who had taken advantage of the night and its 
darkness to roam the town without compromising himself. 
The clergy of Plassans, to whom all action was abhorrent, 
had, since the Coup d’Etat, preserved the most absolute 
neutrality. The Empire, in their eyes, was a settled thing, 
and they only waited their time to resume, in a new direc- 
tion, their secular intrigues. The Marquis, no longer, 
useful as their agent, was devoured with curiosity to see 
how the Rougons would come out. 

“Is that you, child?” he said, as he met Felicity. “I 

19 * ' 


302 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


wanted much to see you. Your affairs are becoming con- 
siderably disturbed, are they not?” 

“ Not at all ; they are all I could desire,” she answered. 

“ I am glad to hear it ; but you must tell me more than 
that. I must acknowledge that I was mortally afraid for 
your husband and his colleagues the other night. If you 
had only seen how ridiculous they were when I pretended 
to discover Insurgents behind every tree in the valley. 
Will you forgive me?” 

“ I thank you ! ” answered F6licit6. “ I wish you would 
do it again. Come in some morning when I am entirely 
alone.” 

She turned away abruptly, as if her meeting the Mar- 
quis had decided some doubtful question in her mind. 
Her steps were quick and decided ; indomitable will was 
expressed in all her little person. She saw the way now 
to avenge herself on Pierre for his secretiveness, and to 
hold her pre-eminence in their home. 

She found Pierre asleep. She took the candle, and, 
holding it in one hand, looked at him attentively. Then 
she drew a chair to the side of the bed, tore off her hat, 
loosened her hair, and began to sob. 

“ What on earth is the matter ? ” asked Pierre, suddenly 
awakened. 

She did not answer ; but wept more bitterly than 
before. 

“For heaven’s sake, answer!” replied her husband, 
terrified by this despair. “ Where have you been ? Have 
you seen the Insurgents?” 


THE EOUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


303 


She shook her head and said, faintly : 

“ I come from the Hotel Valqueyras. I went to ask 
advice from Monsieur de Carnavant. Ah ! my poor friend, 
all is lost ! ” 

Pierre sat up in bed. He was very pale ; his large neck 
was displayed by his night-shirt, which was open at the 
throat. He looked like a Chinese idol. 

“The Marquis,” continued F6licit6, “thinks that the 
Prince has succumbed. We are ruined, and have not a 
cent in the world ! ” 

As is often the case with cowards, Pierre flew into a 
passion. It was all his wife’s fault — the fault of the 
Marquis — the fault of his family ! He himself never cared 
for politics, and should never have had anything to da 
with them but for their bad counsel! 

“I wash my hands of it all!” he cried. “You have 
been as silly as possible. Would it not have been much 
wiser to live on our small income, quietly? But you are 
never satisfied unless you rule, and you see to what you 
have brought us.” 

He forgot that he had been quite as eager and deter- 
mined as his wife, and abandoned himself to the relief of 
holding others responsible for his failure. 

“ Besides,” he continued, “ why is it that we have not 
succeeded with our children? Eugene deserts us at the 
decisive moment; Aristide has dragged us down into the 
mud ; and all, even Pascal, have compromised us in one 
way or another. He, you know, has gone after the Insur- 
gents in the guise of a philanthropist. Such utter stuff!” 


304 


THE KOUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


As soon as he stopped to draw a long breath, F6licit6 
said, softly : 

“And then there is Macquart.” 

“ Yes, I forgot him,” answered her husband, with con- 
siderable violence; “and the mere mention of his name 
drives me mad. But that is not all. I saw little Silvere 
at my mother’s the other night, with his hands covered 
with blood. I did not say anything to you about it at the 
time, for I thought it would terrify you to know that he 
had put out the eye of a gendarme. Think of seeing one 
of our nephews on trial in the court-room ! Ah ! what a 
family! As to Macquart — I was nearly crazy to break 
his head the other night ! Yes ; I — ” 

Felicite allowed this torrent of words to flow on unin- 
terrupted. She received all her husband’s reproaches with 
angelic sweetness, bowing her head as if crushed by her 
own unworthiness. She sighed profoundly, and at last 
exclaimed : 

“ What are we to do ? Good heavens ! what are we to 
do? We are overwhelmed with debts — ” 

“And it is all your fault!” cried Pierre, loudly. 

The truth was that the Rougons were in a bad way. 
Their hopes of success had led them into numerous ex- 
travagances. From the beginning of the year 1851, they 
had been in the habit of offering each evening to the 
liabitu4s of the yellow salon glasses of syrup, punch — 
cakes, and even an occasional collation, during which the 
death of the Republic was drunk. Pierre, too, had put 
a quarter of bis capital into the fund for the purchase 
of arms. 


THE KOUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 305 

“ The pastry-cook’s bill is at least one thousand francs,” 
continued Felicity, in her most dulcet tones; “and we 
owe twice that to the liquor-dealer. Then there is the 
baker and the fruiterer.” 

Pierre gasped in agony. F61icit6 gave her last thrust : 

“And then there are the ten thousand francs you gave 
for arms ! ” 

“I never did!” he shouted. “I was cheated and 
robbed. That fool of a Secardot did that, by telling me 
that the Napoleons were sure to win the day. I merely 
intended to make an advance. That old scamp shall give 
me back my money ! ” 

“That he certainly will not do,” answered his wife, 
shrugging her shoulders; “and when we have paid all this 
we shall not have a sou to buy bread. We shall have to 
look out at once for some hole in the old Quartier.” 

This last phrase sounded pretty dreary. Pierre saw the 
hole in his mind’s eye of which his wife spoke. It was 
there that he should die after having struggled on so many 
years with the hope that his last clays would be his best 
days. He had robbed his mother uselessly, dabbled in the 
vilest intrigues, and lied year after year, and for what? 
The Empire would not pay his debts — this Empire which 
alone could save him from ruin. He started from his bed : 

“No,” he cried. “I prefer to be killed by the Insur- 
gents! I will take a musket and go out to meet them! ” 

“ To be sure,” answered his wife. “ You will not have 
far to go, for they will be here before long, and that would 
be as good a way as another to put an end to everything.” 


306 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

Pierre felt as if a bucket of cold water had been poured 
over his back, and with a shiver he crawled back to bed. 
He pulled the sheets up over his face and began to weep. 
This big man often shed tears. They flowed from his eyes 
as readily as from those of a child. 

F6licit6 expected just this, and smiled with fiendish joy 
at seeing him so abased. She preserved her melancholy 
attitude, and the spectacle of her resignation increased her 
husband’s woe. 

“ Speak!” he said at last; “is there really no straw to 
snatch ? ” 

“None whatever,” she replied. “You have just now 
stated the situation plainly. There is no one to help us. 
Our own children have betrayed us ! ” 

“ Let us run away from Plassans, then,” he said eagerly; 
“let us go to-night.” 

“ Pun away ! My poor, dear husband, we should be the 
talk of the town by to-morrow ! Do you not remember 
that you ordered the gates locked yourself? ” 

Pierre tossed about on his bed restlessly for a minute or 
two, and then murmured entreatingly : 

“ Well, then, why can’t you think of something? You 
have suggested nothing.” 

F6licite looked up hastily, with a gleam of enjoyment in 
her eyes, and with a gesture of indifference, replied : 

“But I am so foolish, you know. You have told me a 
hundred times that I knew nothing of politics.” 

And as her husband relapsed into embarrassed silence, 
she continued quietly: 


THE ItOU GON-M ACQU ART FAMILY. 307 

“ You kept me out of all of your affairs, you know; 
so how can you expect me to advise you now? You have 
done all for the best, undoubtedly, for women talk so much, 
and it is infinitely better that men should steer their own 
barks by themselves.” 

She said this in a tone of such delicate irony that her 
husband did not feel the cruelty of her words. He was 
simply filled with remorse, and suddenly confessed. He 
spoke of Eugene’s letters, explained his plans and his con- 
duct with the loquacity of a man who clears his conscience. 
He interrupted himself constantly to ask: “What would 
you have done in my place?” or “Was I not right? 
How could I act differently?” Felicity would not make 
the smallest sign. She listened with the cold impassibility 
of a judge, but in reality her enjoyment was exquisite. 
She had him at last under her thumb, and she played with 
him as a cat plays with a mouse. 

“But wait!” exclaimed Rougon. “I will show you 
Eugene’s letters, and then you will understand better.” 

She caught him by the sleeve, but he broke away from 
her. He spread out the letters before her, and then 
returning to bed, read some of them aloud. She smiled 
pityingly, for her compassion was really aroused. 

“ Now,” he said ; “ what have you to say ? Do you see 
any way of saving us from ruin?” 

She seemed to be absorbed in thought. 

“You are a woman of no ordinary intelligence,” he 
continued, caressingly. “ I made a great mistake in not 
taking you at once into my confidence.” 


308 


THE ROH GON-M ACQU ART FAMILY. 


“Let us say no more about that,” she interrupted ; * r I, 
on the contrary, think if you had more courage — ” and as 
he hung on her words, she added with a smile : 

“ But you must promise not to distrust me again. You 
will tell me everything in future, will you not? And will 
you always consult me?” 

He swore that he would do precisely as she said in all 
such matters in future. Then Felicite went to bed, and 
with her lips close to her husband’s ear, explained her 
plans and views. 

According to her the panic was greater than ever 
throughout the town. Pierre must preserve an heroic 
attitude among the appalled inhabitants. As for herself, 
she did not believe the Insurgents were so near. Besides, 
in any event, the Rougons would be recompensed, for after 
they had played the role of preservers, that of martyrs was 
not to be disdained. 

F6licit6 was so much in earnest, and spoke with so much 
conviction, that her husband, surprised at first by the sim- 
plicity of her plan, which was mainly characterized by 
audacity, ended in regarding it with the utmost approval, 
and promised to conform to all her wishes. 

“ You must not forget that it was I who saved you,” 
murmured the old lady, in a coaxing voice.. 

They kissed each other and said good-night. But they 
neither of them fell asleep, and Pierre, who lay looking at 
the round spot made by the night-lamp on the ceiling, 
turned to his wife and said something in a low voice. 

“ No, no,” murmured Felicity with a shiver. “ It would 
be too cruel — ” 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 309 

“Pshaw!” he answered. “Don’t you see we could 
employ Macquart, and so get rid of him?” 

F6licit6 seemed quite struck by this idea. She reflected, 
and then with some hesitation stammered out: 

“ You are right, possibly. We should be very foolish to 
have any scruples w T hen it is a question of life and death. 
Let me attend to it. I will go to-morrow and see Mac- 
quart, and ascertain if we can come to any arrangements. 
You would quarrel with him and spoil everything. Good- 
night, my poor, dear man. I think our troubles are over.” 

They embraced each other again, and at last fell asleep. 
And on the ceiling the circle of light flickered and winked 
like a huge eye glaring down on these two persons, whose 
sleep was haunted by guilty dreams. 

The next day before light F6licite went to the Mayor’s, 
instructed by Pierre as to where she should find Macquart. 
She carried in a napkin a uniform of the National Guards. 
The Concierge conducted her to the dressing-room, which 
was temporarily transformed into a prison cell. 

Macquart had been shut up in this dressing-room for two 
days and two nights, and had had ample time for reflection. 
At first he had been tempted to kick down the door, 
hoping that his brother w T as in the next room, and mean- 
ing to strangle him then, or later, if the Insurgents should 
come. But as hours went on, he grew calmer in the gath- 
ering twilight, and began to pay some attention to the 
luxuries surrounding him. Monsieur Garcounet was 
wealthy; his tastes were delicate and refined, and this 
room was exquisitely arranged. The divan was soft and 


310 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

luxurious; perfumes, soaps, and pomades were on the 
dressing-table and marble washstand, and the light fell 
softly down from above. Macquart, in this perfume- 
laden air, fell asleep, thinking that “ these confounded 
rich people were pretty fortunate.” 

He covered himself with a violet-scented sofa blanket, 
supported himself on innumerable pillows, and slept until 
morning. When he opened his eyes, a thread of sunlight 
glanced down from the window above. He looked around 
the room, and came to the conclusion that he had never 
before seen so comfortable a place devoted to washing. It 
would not be a difficult matter, he thought, to keep Himself 
clean with so many little pots and vials. He thought with 
some bitterness of all he might have had in this life. He 
wondered if he had not made a mistake, and if it would 
not have been wiser to have been on good terms with the 
Rougons. But he dismissed the thought. The Rougons 
were rascals who had robbed him, but he was not especially 
vindictive, for the softness of the cushions and the warmth 
of the room had soothed down his anger. He wondered 
vaguely if the Insurgents had abandoned him, and if the 
Republic were not a grand imposition. These Rougon 
people were lucky creatures after all. 

He recalled his useless infamies, his incessant warfares 
against the other members of his family. As to SilvSre, 
he did not count ; he was a foolish enthusiast, and would 
never amount to anything. 

He himself was now alone. His wife was dead, his 
children had left him, and he would die in a corner 


THE EOXJ GON-M ACQU A RT FAMILY. 


311 


without a cent, like a dog. It might not be too late for 
him to change his politics after all ! As he said this, he 
looked at the marble washstand, and felt a strong desire 
to wash his hands with a certain paste which he saw in a 
crystal box. Macquart, like all do-nothings, who are sup- 
ported by their wives and children, had all the tastes of a 
hair-dresser. Although he wore patched breeches, he liked 
to put highly-scented oils on his head, and passed hours 
at his barber’s, where they talked politics, and who gave 
him a little gentle combing between two discussions. The 
temptation was too strong. Macquart went to the stand ; 
he washed his face and hands, combed and perfumed him- 
self. He made use of all the bottles, all the soaps, and all 
the powders. But his greatest joy was in the Mayor’s 
towels — they were so soft and so thick. He buried his face 
in them with delight. When he was scented and pomaded 
and felt good from head to foot, he threw himself 
again on the divan, more disposed than ever to measures of 
conciliation. He felt a growing contempt for the Republic 
ever since he had put his nose into the Mayor’s scent-bottles. 
He was quite sure that it was time to make peace with his 
brother. He wondered what he had best ask as the price 
of his treason. His hatred was as great as ever, but this 
was one of those moments when in utter silence and soli- 
tude one tells one’s self plain truths, and finds excuses for 
one’s own cowardice and indifference. Antoine finally 
made up his mind to send for his brother the next morn- 
ing. But when the next morning came, and F£licit6 
appeared, he realized that he was needed, and at once was 
on his guard. 


312 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


The negotiation was long, and managed with infinite 
art. The two exchanged vague complaints : Felicity 
surprised at finding Antoine quite polite after the scene 
that had previously taken place on Sunday evening, 
assumed a tone of gentle reproach. She deplored the 
hatred that divided the family ; but then he had calum- 
niated his brother in such a way that poor Rougon was 
quite beside himself. 

“ My brother never behaved like a brother toward me/ , 
answered Macquart, violently. “Did he ever assist me in 
any way? No; he would have let me die in my garret. 
At one time he seemed kindly disposed, and gave me two 
hundred francs. I was then sorry that I had said any 
harm of him ; I went about saying that he had a good 
heart after all.” 

This signified — 

“ If you had continued to furnish me with money, I 
would have been charmed to aid you instead of opposing 
you. It is all your own fault ; you should have bought 
me.” 

Felicity understood him so well that she replied 

“I know; you have accused us of harshness, because 
you fancied us better off than we were ; but you were mis- 
taken, my poor brother ; we are really poor people, and 
have never been able to follow the dictates of our hearts 
toward you.” 

She hesitated a moment, and then went on : 

“ We, of course, could under certain circumstances make 
a sacrifice. But we are poor — very poor.” 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


313 


Macquart pricked up his ears. “I have them” he 
thought. Then, without appearing to notice the indirect 
offer of his sister-in-law, he went on to recount all his 
various afflictions — the death of his wife, and the flight 
of his children. F6licit§, on her side, spoke of the crisis 
through which the country was passing. She pretended 
that the Republic had ruined them, and moaned over 
an epoch which forced one brother to imprison another. 
She dropped a word or two about the galleys. 

“ I am not at all concerned,” answered Macquart. 11 1 
defy you all.” 

She exclaimed at this. 

“ You do not understand,” she cried. “I said this only 
to show you that we would never abandon you. I have 
come, my dear Antoine, to give you the means of flight.” 

They looked full in each other’s eyes before they entered . 
on the contest. 

“ What conditions do you make?” he asked, at last. 

“ None whatever,” was the reply. 

She seated herself on the sofa by his side, and continued 
in a decided voice : 

“And even after passing the frontier you should need a 
note of a thousand francs, I could manage to let you 
have it.” 

Again there was a silence. 

“If the affair is straightforward and honest,” mur- 
mured Antoine, with a contemplative air. “ You know I 
do not care to be mixed up in any of your manoeuvres.” 

“But there are no manoeuvres,” answered Felicity 


314 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY: 

smiling at the scruples of the old rascal. “ Nothing could 
be more simple. You will leave this room ; go at once to 
your mother’s, and hide there until midnight ; and then you 
and your friends will come and recapture this building.” 

Macquart could not conceal the surprise he felt. He 
could not grasp the meaning of this proposition. 

“ I thought,” he said, “ that you were victorious.” 

“ It is impossible for me to stop to explain,” answered 
the old woman, impatiently. “Do you accept my pro- 
posal ? ” 

“No; I do not accept it. I wish time for reflec- 
tion. I should be very foolish to risk a fortune for a 
thousand francs.” 

Felicite rose. 

“ Do as you think best,” she said, coldly. “ You have 
really very little perception of your position. You have 
seen fit to treat me as if I were some old beggar, and 
when I, in my kindness, extend a helping hand to you, 
you do not choose to be saved. Well, then, do as you 
choose. Wait until the authorities come back. As for 
me, I wash my hands of it all.” 

She was at the door. 

“ But,” he answered, imploringly, “give me some expla- 
nations, will you not? How can I conclude a bargain 
without knowing more? For two days I have heard 
nothing of what is going on outside. How do I know 
that you are not deceiving me?” 

“You are a perfect simpleton,” answered F6licit6, 
turning at these words. “You are very wrong in not 


THE EOUGON-MACQUAItT FAMILY. 315 

submitting blindly to us. A thousand francs is a very nice 
sum, and I should advise you to accept it.” 

He still hesitated. 

“But when we have taken this building again, what 
then ? ” 

“Ah ! that I cannot tell you,” she answered, with a 
smile. “ There may be a shot or two.” 

He looked at her. 

“ Tell me,” he said, in a hoarse voice, “ tell me the 
truth. Do you not intend to have me shot?” 

Felicite colored. She had thought certainly that a ball 
might do her the great favor of disembarrassing her of 
Antoine, which would be to her a clear saving of a thou- 
sand francs. 

“ What an idea ! ” she murmured. “ How can you 
have such terrible ideas ? ” 

She added more quietly : 

‘And do you accept? You fully understand, do you 
not?” 

Macquart had fully understood. He saw that it was a 
trap now proposed to him. 

He understood nothing about it, which was all the 
more reason for his driving a better bargain. After 
speaking of the Republic as a mistress he had repu- 
diated, he recounted the risks he ran, and ended by 
asking for two thousand francs. But Felicity was firm, 
and they argued until she promised to procure for him, 
on his return to France, a place where he would have 
nothing to do, and which would be lucrative all the same. 


316 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY* 

Then the bargain was concluded. She made him put on 
the uniform of the National Guards, which she had 
brought with her. He could walk quietly out into the 
Square, and thence to his mother’s. About midnight he 
was to get together all the Republicans he knew, and 
telling them that the Hotel de Ville was empty, he would 
lead them there at once. 

Felicity gave him two hundred francs, and promised him 
eight hundred more the next day. Thus it was that the 
Rougons risked the very last franc they owned. When 
Felicite went down-stairs she waited a few moments to see 
Macquart come out. 

“ It is all right,” said F6licit6, to her husband, as she 
went into the room where he sat. “ It will be at mid- 
night, you know. I wish heartily they could be all 
shot. Would they not have torn us to pieces gladly only 
yesterday ? ” 

“You are right,” answered Pierre; “any one in our 
place would do just the same! ” 

This morning, it was Wednesday, Pierre was especially 
careful with his dress. His wife combed his hair, and 
tied his cravat. She twisted him about, and turned him 
around like a child who is going to a distribution of 
prizes. Then, when he was ready, she told him that he 
was very satisfactory, and that he could stand his own 
before them all. His big round face was deadly pale 
with the effort it cost him to assume an air of dignity, and 
of heroic determination. She herself accompanied him 
as far as the door, all the time murmuring advice in his 
ear : he must not flinch, no matter how great the panic 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 317 

might be. He must keep the gates more closely shut than 
ever. 

What a day that was ! The Rougons still talk of it as 
of a glorious and decisive battle. Pierre went straight to 
the Hotel de Ville, looking neither to the right nor the 
left. He installed himself in a stately manner ,as if he 
never intended to leave the place. He sent a note to 
Rondier to signify that he had resumed the reins. 

“ You will watch the gates,” he wrote, knowing that 
these words might become a matter of history, “I will 
mount guard within, and compel the Insurgents to respect 
persons and property. It is now, when evil passions rise 
to the surface, that good citizens should seek to stifle them 
at the peril of their lives.” The style, the very faults 
of orthography, added an lieroic element to this note, 
which was antique in its laconism. 

Not one of the Provisionary Council appeared. The 
two who had held out longest, and Granoux himself, 
remained prudently at home: of the whole number only 
Rougon, in his Presidential arm-chair, remained at his post. 
He did not condescend to make an attempt to bring them 
together; he was there: that was quite enough. Sublime 
spectacle ! characterized by a local journal, at a later date 
as, “ Courage and Duty hand-in-hand.” 

Pierre was absolutely alone all the morning in this 
great building whose high ceilings resounded with the 
noise of his heels. The doors all stood wide open, and he 
walked from room to room with such an air of importance 
that the Concierge, meeting him several times in the 
20 


318 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


corridors, saluted him with an air of respectful surprise. 
He was seen at one window after another, and notwith- 
standing the sharp cold he even several times emerged 
upon the balcony with piles of paper in his hand, as if 
overwhelmed with business. 

Then at midnight he made a tour of inspection through 
the town. He went to the gates, spoke of a possible 
attack, and expressed his fears that the Insurgents were 
nearer than was supposed. He relied, he said, on the 
well-known courage of the National Guards — he knew 
they were ready to die in defence of a good cause. 

When he returned from this inspection* with the slow 
dignity of a man who has set his house in order, and who 
has only Death to which to look forward, he recognized 
the fact that all the small shop-keepers he passed looked 
at him with consternation, and evident surprise that one of 
themselves, a mere merchant, could have the audacity to 
attempt to stand against an army. 

The anxiety throughout the town was at its height. 
The inhabitants were in momentary expectation of the 
arrival of the Insurgents. The news of Macquart’s escape 
was already buzzed about. It was said that he had been 
delivered by his friends, the Reds, and that he was only 
waiting until night when he would set fire to the town, 
and murder the inhabitants. As to the Ville Neuve, the 
lawyers and retired merchants, who only the evening 
before had abused the yellow salon, they were utterly 
surprised and dared not openly attack a man of such 
courage. 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 319 

They contented themselves with saying that it was the 
sheerest folly to brave the rebels in this way, and that 
this useless heroism would draw down on Plassans greater 
misfortune. About three o’clock they arranged a Deputa- 
tion to wait upon Pierre, who received them with words 
that were absolutely sublime. 

The Deputation, after complimenting him on his patri- 
otism, implored him not to dream of resistance. But in a 
loud voice he talked of Duty to his Country — Order and 
Liberty ! He said he had no intention of insisting upon 
any one following his example, but he intended to obey 
the dictates of his heart and conscience. 

“ I stand alone, gentlemen,” he said ; “ and am therefore 
able to assume all the responsibility. No one but myself 
will be compromised. If there must be a victim, I offer 
myself, with the earnest hope that the sacrifice of my life 
will save my fellow-citizens.” 

A Notary, the head of the Deputation, said in reply, that 
Rougon was going to certain death. 

“ I know it,” replied Pierre, solemnly. “ I know it, 
and am ready!” 

The gentlemen all looked at him. This “I am 
ready!” struck them as being the finest thing they had 
ever heard. “Who was eve^ as brave as that?” they 
asked each other. 

The Notary conjured him to summon the police about 
him, but he answered that the blood of these men was 
doubly precious at this time, and that he would not call 
upon them except in the last extremity. The Deputation 


320 


THE ROUGON-MACQUAET FAMILY. 


slowly withdrew in a great state of excitement, and one 
hour later all Plassans spoke of Rougon as a hero. A few 
cowards called him a madman. Toward evening Rougon 
was much astonished at seeing Granoux rush into the 
room. The old merchant called him “ greatest of men,” 
and declared that he was determined to die at his side. 
The “I am ready!” had moved him to the deepest enthu- 
siasm. Pierre was touched by the devotion of this poor 
man, and determined that he should be publicly compli- 
mented by the Prefect, which would naturally humiliate 
the others who had deserted him in such a cowardly fash^ 
ion. Granoux and Kougon therefore waited the approach 
of night alone in the deserted rooms of the Mayor. 

At the same hour Aristide was in a great state of 
uneasiness, walking up and down his room. He had read 
Vuillet’s article with utter astonishment, and his father’s 
acts amazed him still more. He had seen him at a win- 
dow in a white cravat and black coat, and so perfectly 
unmoved by the approach of danger that all his son’s pre- 
conceived ideas were entirely upset. That the Insurgents 
would return victorious was the belief of the entire town. 
Aristide wavered, however; he dared not go himself to 
his parents, and sent AngSle, who, when she returned, said 
to her husband with her little drawl : 

“Your mother wishes to see you. She is not angry, 
but she has a look as if she were laughing at you. She 
said several times that she thought you had best put your 
scarf in your pocket.” 

Aristide was intensely annoyed. He hurried to La Kue 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 321 

de Banne, ready to make any concession demanded. His 
mother received him with a disdainful smile. 

“Ah ! my dear boy ! ” she said, as soon as she saw him ; 
“ you are none too wise, I fear ! ” 

“ How is one to know anything,” he cried, angrily, “ in 
a place like Plassans ! I am absolutely becoming stupefied. 
There is never a word of intelligence to be obtained here — 
it is as if one were shut up in a prison. Ah ! if I had 
only gone to Paris with Eugene ! ” 

Then seeing the mocking smile on his mother’s lips, he 
continued : 

“ You have not been very kind or generous toward me, 
mother,” he said. “ I know perhaps more than you think. 
I know that my brother has kept you thoroughly informed 
of what was going on, and yet you have never given me 
the smallest hint that I could find useful.” 

“You knew this, did you?” said Felicity, suddenly 
becoming very serious and suspicious; “then you are 
more stupid than I supposed. Have you been opening 
my letters then, like another person of my acquaintance?” 

“ No ; I don’t do that,” answered Aristide, with great 
coolness ; “ but I listen at doors.” 

This frankness did not displease the old lady. She 
smiled again, and said more gently : 

“ Then why is it that you have not come over to us 
before ? ” 

“ Well, to tell you the truth,” answered the young man, 
somewhat embarrassed ; “ I had not the most absolute faith 
in you. You receive such terrible brutes : my father-in-law 


322 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

for example, Granoux and others, and I did not wish 
to go too fast — ” He hesitated, and then went on uneasily : 

“ But you are certain now of the success of the Coup 
d’Etat, are you not ? ” 

“ I ! ” cried Felicity, who was exasperated by her son’s 
doubts ; “ I am sure of nothing, you know.” 

“And yet you sent me word to take the scarf off my 
arm?” 

“ Of course ; because all these men are laughing at you.” 

Aristide, with his hands in his pocket, stood with his 
eyes riveted on the branches running over the yellow paper. 
His mother was indignant at seeing him hesitate. 

“I return to my opinion,” she said; “you are certainly 
none too wise, and yet you are offended that we did not 
read Eugene’s letters to you ! Why you, with your con- 
stant hesitations and uncertainties, would have spoiled 
everything. You always hesitate — ” 

“Yes, that is true,” he said, interrupting his mother, 
and riveting his eyes upon her with a cold, stern glare ; 
“ but I do not think you know me yet. I would set fire 
to the town any time if I wished to warm my feet. I 
am tired of eating dry bread, and I wish to make my 
fortune. I shall not run any risks now, you may be 
sure of that.” 

He uttered these words with such bitterness that his 
mother recognized her own blood in this mad determina- 
tion to succeed. 

She said, softly : 

“ Your father has a great deal of courage.” 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


323 


“ Yes,” he answered, with a sneer; “a great deal. He 
has a neat head, and reminds me of Leonidas at Ther- 
mopylse. Was it you, mother, who arranged his hair in 
that way ? ” 

Presently he said, more gayly : 

“Papa is not a man to allow himself to be killed, 
unless it is to his advantage ! That I know very well ! ” 

“And you are right, ” answered his mother. “ You must 
wait until to-morrow. I cannot say another* word now. 
My lips are absolutely tied.” 

He said no more and went away, while Felicity, looking 
after him from the window, felt all her old partiality re- 
vive, and said to herself that she could never have had 
the courage to allow him to leave without giving him a 
hint of the truth. 

For the third time in this troubled epoch, night fell on 
Plassans. The town was in great fear. Every house- 
owner retired to his own dwelling, and bolted the doors 
with great noise and ceremony. The general feeling was 
that there would be no Plassans the next morning — that 
it would be level with the ground, or would have ascended 
to heaven, in clouds of smoke. 

When Rougon went home to dinner, he found the streets 
absolutely deserted. This solitude rendered him very sad 
and melancholy. Toward the end of the meal his heart 
became so softened that he asked his wife if it were really 
necessary to carry out the insurrection which Macquart 
was preparing. 

“ Had you seen the way in which these men greeted 


324 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


me ! ” he said. “ I really can’t see the use of killing people. 
Can we manage our little affairs without that ? ” 

“ What a simpleton you are!” cried Felicity angrily. 
“ It was all your idea, and now you wish to draw back ! 
I tell you, you would never do anything without me. Go 
your own road. Do you think the Republicans will spare 
you if they once get you in their clutches?” 

Rougon returned to his self-appointed post; he sent 
Granoux off with orders to send the National Guards at 
once to the Hotel de Ville in small numbers and as secretly 
as possible. Rondier, the Parisian Bourgeois, who had 
strayed into the Provinces, received no warning, lest he 
should ruin the whole affair by preaching humanity. 

About eleven o’clock the court-yard was full of National 
Guards. Rougon struck terror to their souls. He told 
them that the Republicans who had remained at Plassans 
had resolved on a last desperate blow, and he assured them 
that he had discovered this through his secret police. 

When he had finished drawing a most sanguinary pic- 
ture of the massacre which these terrible creatures would 
inaugurate, he gave the order not to utter another word, 
not even a whisper, and to extinguish all the lights. He 
took a gun himself. All that day Rougon moved as if in 
a dream. He felt as if he were simply his wife’s puppet; 
that she pulled all the strings, and he had such confidence 
in her that he would have allowed' a rope to be placed 
around his neck, with the conviction that his wife would 
come to the rescue at the last moment. 

To increase the noise and terrify the sleeping town to 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


325 


a greater degree, he bade Granoux go to the Cathedral 
and sound the tocsin as soon as the first gun was fired. 

In the shadow — in the dark silence of the court — the 
National Guards, in anxious terror, waited — with their 
eyes riveted on the porch, as eager to discharge their guns 
as if they expected a band of wolves. 

Macquart had spent the whole day at Aunt Dide’s. 
He had stretched himself on the old chest, regretting the 
divan of the Mayor’s. He was eager to spend the two hun- 
dred francs which absolutely burned his pocket, but. was 
compelled to do it only in imagination. His mother moved 
about with a pale face, and never opened her lips — stiff 
and silent as an automaton. She knew nothing and cared 
less for the fears which convulsed the town. She was a 
thousand leagues away from Plassans, absorbed in the 
one idea which kept her eyes wide open and fixed. 

Antoine sent her to buy a roasted chicken from a 
restaurant near by ; and after he had devoured it, he said, 
with a sneer : 

“ Only people who work and know how to manage their 
affairs can eat chicken ! You have always wasted every- 
thing, unless, as I sometimes believe, you are giving your 
savings to Silv&re. He has a mistress, you know, and 
if you have stored up a nice little sum for him, he will 
make it fly some day.” 

He laughed with brutal enjoyment. The money he had 
in his pocket — the treason he was preparing — the certainty 
that he had sold himself at a good price — filled him with 
that contentment of bad people who gloat over the 
evil they do. Aunt Dide heard nothing but Silv&re’s name. 


326 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

“Have you seen him?” she asked, opening her lips 
hastily. 

“Who? Silvere?” answered Antoine. “He was strol- 
ling about among the Insurgents, with a girl all in red 
on his arm. If he were hit by a stray ball, it would be a 
very good thing.” 

The old woman looked at him strangely, and in a 
measured voice said : 

“And why — pray?” 

“Because he is so stupid!” answered Macquart, some- 
what embarrassed. “I have arranged all my affairs, and 
am not a child, you know.” 

But Aunt Dide murmured : 

“ There was blood on his hands! They will kill him! 
His uncle will send the gendarmes to find him !” 

“What are you muttering, old woman?” asked her son. 
u If you have anything to say, out with it ! I prefer that 
people should accuse me openly. If I talked Republican- 
ism sometimes to the boy, it was simply to put some 
common-sense notions into his head. I like Liberty, but 
I don’t want it to degenerate into license ; and as to Rou- 
gon, I respect him. He hail both head and courage !” 

“Did he have the gun?” interrupted Aunt Dide, who 
could not think of anything but Silvere. 

“The gun? Oh, yes! He has Macquart’s gun, then, 
has he?” replied Antoine, after glancing at the mantel 
where the gun usually hung. “I think I saw it in his 
hands. A nice thing, too, to carry under one arm and a 
girl on the other ! He is an absolute fool ! ” And he went 
on to utter some coarse pleasantries. 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 327 

Aunt Dide walked away without a word. 

Toward evening Antoine put on a blouse, pulled a hat 
over his eyes, and went out. He went down to the old 
Quartier and glided into house after house. All those 
strong Republicans who had not followed the Insurgents 
assembled about nine o’clock in a Cafe, where Macquart 
had bade them await his coming. When there were 
about fifty men assembled, he made an incendiary address. 
He told them he had a personal vengeance to satisfy — 
a shameful yoke to throw off — and finished by assuring 
them that they could obtain possession of the Hotel de 
Ville in ten minutes. He had just left it ; it was»vacant. 
The red flag could float over the building that very night, 
if they pleased. The men talked together a little. They 
said to each other that the Insurgents were at the gates, 
and it would not be honorable in themselves not to regain 
the power which would enable them to receive their 
brothers with arms and gates thrown wide open. No one 
distrusted Macquart. His hatred against the Rougons, 
the personal vengeance of which he spoke, were securities 
for his loyalty. It was agreed that all who had guns 
should go home at once and seek them, and that at mid- 
night they should all reassemble on the Square. 

But they had no balls. They decided finally that they 
would not load their arms with more than powder. It 
was unnecessary, one said to another, as there would be 
no resistance of course. Once again did Plassans have 
armed men stealing along the streets. When Macquart 
got his men all together, he advanced boldly. He 


328 THE ROUGON-MACQTJART FAMILY. 

knocked at the door, and when the Concierge, who had 
been well drilled, asked what they wanted, they threatened 
him so fiercely that the man, pretending to be horribly 
frightened, threw the door wide open. 

Then Macquart said, loudly : 

“ Come in, my friends.” 

This was the signal agreed upon. He darted swiftly to 
one side, and while the Republicans dashed forward, the 
darkness of the court-yard was suddenly illuminated, and 
a shower of balls fell among them. The National Guards, 
exasperated by waiting, eager to be delivered from the 
nightmare which had weighed upon them in this dark 
court-yard, had all discharged their pieces at the same 
moment with feverish haste. The glare was so great that 
Macquart saw Rougon, in the yellow light, taking delib- 
erate aim at himself. He remembered Felicity’s blush, and 
ran away, saying : 

“That rascal means to kill me! He owes me eight 
hundred francs.” 

Frightful outcries broke on the silence of the night. 
The Republicans shouted “ Treason !” and fired in their 
turn. A National Guard fell in the doorway. The 
Republicans took to flight, shouting through the silent 
streets : 

“ They are assassinating our brothers ! ” 

Their despairing voices found no echo. 

The defenders of Order having reloaded their pieces, 
rushed across the vacant Square like madmen, and dis- 
charged their guns into every dark doorway where the 


THE EOUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 329 

flickering shadows, thrown by a street lamp, induced them 
to fancy some rebel had taken refuge. This went on for 
ten minutes. 

The uproar burst like a thunder-bolt over the sleep- 
ing town. The inhabitants, awakened by this infernal 
fusillade, started up with their teeth chattering with fear. 
Nothing would have tempted them to look out at the 
windows. Slowly on the air, still resounding with the 
musketry, fell the sounds of the Cathedral bell sounding 
the tocsin with its irregular rhythm, reminding one of some 
gigantic copper caldron beaten by an angry child. This 
sound, which the Bourgeois had never before heard, 
terrified them more than the fire-arms. And they fan- 
cied, too, they heard the noise of cannon rattling over the 
pavement. They went back to bed, and pulled the bed- 
clothes over their heads, making themselves as small as 
possible, while their wives at their sides held their breath 
in dismay. 

The National Guards on the ramparts had of course 
also heard these reports. They believed the Insurgents to 
have entered the city by some subterranean passage, and in 
little bands of four and five, hurried through the streets to 
discover what was going on. But Rougon sent them back 
instantly with severe reproaches for deserting their posts. 
Filled with consternation at this, for in their panic they 
had really left the gates open and without a soul to guard 
them, they ran back with a most frightful din and noise. 
For an hour Plassans believed that a pillaging army was 
within the gates of the town. The fusillade— the tocsin — 


330 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

the' marching and countermarching of the National 
Guards — their arms which they dragged after them like 
clubs, and their shouts were absolutely appalling. Natu- 
rally all the inhabitants supposed the Insurgents to be in 
possession of the town, and they lay in their beds 
shivering with terror. 

Granoux still sounded the tocsin which, as silence fell 
upon the town, became more and more dreary. Rougon 
himself could bear the sobbing notes no longer ; he ran to 
the Cathedral, the small door of which he found open, 
and the beadle standing on the sill. 

“For heaven’s sake!” cried Rougon, “do stop that 
noise. It is like some one crying.” 

“But it is not I, sir,” answered the beadle, in a de- 
spairing tone. “ It is Monsieur Granoux, who is in the 
tower. I had taken out the hammer of the bell by orders 
of the Cur6, just to prevent the tocsin from being rung. 
Monsieur Granoux would not hear reason, and he climbed 
up; but I can’t imagine how the devil he makes the 
noise.” 

Rougon hastily ascended the narrow corkscrew stair- 
case, which led to the bells, calling as he went : 

“ Enough ! Enough ! In the name of goodness, 
stop ! ” 

When he was high up, he saw, in a ray of moonlight 
which streamed through an opening, Granoux, without a 
hat, pounding with a great hammer. He went at his 
work with a tremendous air of resolution. He leaned 
back, and then came forward with wild impetus, hitting 


THE ROTJ GON-M ACQUART FAMILY. 


331 


the sonorous brass as if he wished to split it. All his 
stout form trepibled with earnest enthusiasm. He was 
like a blacksmith, hammering hot iron, but he was a 
short and bald blacksmith, in a black coat. 

Surprise nailed Rougon to the stairs. It was indeed a 
grotesque sight, and he understood the strange sounds 
which had electrified the town. He shouted to him to 
stop, but the other did not hear him. Rougon leaned 
forward and pulled his coat. Granoux then turned and 
recognized him. 

“Ah! ” he cried, in a triumphant voice, “you heard me, 
then, did you ? I tried at first to make a sound with my 
fists, but I could not, and fortunately I found this ham- 
mer. Let me do it a little longer.” 

But Rougon tore him away. Granoux wiped his brow, 
and exacted a promise from his companion that he should 
tell every one the next day that it was with a simple ham- 
mer that he had made all this noise. 

Toward morning Rougon thought he had best go and 
reassure F6licit6. By his orders, the National Guards were 
in the Hotel de Ville. He had not allowed the bodies to 
be removed, saying that an example was required by the 
people in the old Quartier. Consequently, when he came 
out of the building, he slipped on the hand of one of these 
murdered men, as it lay on the edge of the sidewalk. He 
nearly fell. This soft hand, which he crushed under his 
heel, made him sick and faint with disgust. He strode 
through the deserted streets with the feeling that a bloody 
fist threatened him in the rear. 


332 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


“There are four lying on the ground,” he said, as he 
crossed his threshold. • 

Then husband and wife looked at each other, stupefied 
at their crime. The lamp gave a tone like yellow wax to 
their excessive pallor. 

“ You left them there?” asked Felicite. “They ought 
to be found there.” 

“ Most assuredly — I was not the one to pick them up. 
They lie on their backs. I stepped on something soft — ” 

He put up his foot, and looked at his shoe; the heel 
was red with blood! While he put on a pair of boots, 
F6licit6 resumed : 

“Very well, that is settled, then ! They can’t say now 
that you fire only at looking-glasses ! ” 

This fusillade, which the Rougons had arranged, that 
they might be definitively accepted as the preservers of 
Plassans, brought the whole town to their feet in humble 
gratitude. 

The day was pale, gray and wintry. The inhabitants 
at last ventured out from between their sheets, and as the 
report ran that the Insurgents had taken flight, leaving 
their dead in the gutters, Plassans went in a body to in- 
vestigate. A curious crowd gathered about the four 
bodies, which were horribly mutilated — one especially, 
had three balls through the head; a portion of the skull 
was carried away, leaving the brain naked. But the 
most horrible of the four was the National Guard who 
had fallen under the porch. The man was well known 
to them. Two of the others were hatters’ apprentices; 


THE ROTJGON-MACQUAKT FAMILY. 333 

the third was unknown. And before the pools of red 
blood that stained the pavement, groups stood, open- 
mouthed and as terrified as if they expected to be 
treated with the same summary justice, if they did not 
kiss the hand which was raised to save them from the 
demagogues. 

The panic of the night was increased fourfold by the 
sight of these bodies. The true story of this fusillade 
was never known. The firing of the combatants — 
Granoux and his hammer — the tramping and rattling of 
the National Guards through the streets, had filled the 
ears of the town with such a noise that most of the citizens 
imagined a terrible battle had taken place. 

When the conquerors multiplied the number of their 
adversaries, and spoke of five hundred, there was a 
general outcry; the Bourgeois declared they had seen 
from their windows a dense body of Insurgents, pass- 
ing for nearly an hour. Never could five hundred men 
have made such a disturbance. It was an army that 
had stolen into the city through some subterranean pas- 
sage. Rougon had used the phrase, “They came in 
through the earth,” as a figure of speech ; but it was seized 
upon as a fact, for the guards at the gate swore that not a 
man had passed them going out or coming in. It is true 
that they avoided making any mention of their own rapid 
rushes through the city. The most sensible and shrewdest 
persons adopted the belief that the Insurgents had entered 
the town in some mysterious way. Before long a 
rumor of treason was in circulation, as the men led by 
21 


334 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


Macquart were not likely to hold their tongues; but these 
rumors were attributed to the disappointment of the 
Republicans. 

It was asserted, on the other hand, that Macquart was 
Rougon’s prisoner, and that he was kept in some dark 
hole, where he was dying of hunger. This terrible tale 
caused every one to regard Rougon with more admiration 
than before. 

Thus it was that this stout, bleached-looking Bour- 
geois became a terrible gentleman, of whom no one dared 
speak lightly. 

He had received a baptism of blood. The dwellers in 
the Old Quartier were mute with terror before the dead 
bodies, but about ten o’clock, when the people from the 
Ville Neuve arrived, the Square resounded with stifled 
exclamations. They spoke of the first attack and of the 
broken mirror, but this time, with great respect, they 
called Rougon a hero. The corpses, with wide-open eyes, 
looked at these gentlemen, who shuddered as they said 
that civil war was a dismal thing, and had its sad neces- 
sities. The Notary, the man who had headed the Depu- 
tation, went from group to group, repeating the “ I am 
ready ! ” of the energetic man to whom the safety of 
their town was entirely due. Those who had jeered most 
loudly at the forty and one, as well as those who had 
boldly stigmatized the Rougons as Insurgents and cow- 
ards, who fired their pieces in the air, were the first to 
talk of the Crown of Laurel, which should be voted to 
the citizen of whom Plassans would be always proud. 


THE ROTJ GON-MACQU ART FAMILY. 


335 


“For the pools of blood on the sidewalk were drying, 
and the dead told of the excesses committed by the party 
of Disorder, Rapine and Murder, and of the iron hand 
that was needed to enforce peace.” 

Granoux in his turn received congratulations. The 
story of the hammer was known. Only by an innocent, 
almost unconscious lie, he pretended, that having been 
the first to see the Insurgents, he hurried to the bell in 
order to sound the alarm. Without this, the National 
Guards would all have been murdered. 

His exploit was called “ prodigious! ” He was thence 
forward always spoken of as “ that gentleman who 
sounded the tocsin with a hammer.” Although this 
epithet was somewhat lengthy, Granoux accepted it as a 
title of nobility, and the word “ hammer” was never 
uttered in his presence without his regarding it as the 
most delicate flattery. 

Just as the bodies were being carried away, Aristide 
came to look at them, with cold, dispassionate eyes. With 
his hand, the one that the evening before he had worn in 
a sling and which was now free, he opened the blouse 
worn by one of the dead men to examine the wound. 
This examination was a thorough one, and seemed to have 
been undertaken to remove some doubt. His lips were 
tightly compressed, and he hurried away to hasten the 
distribution of the Independent , in which was a long 
article he had contributed. 

As he traversed the streets, he remembered his mother’s 
word, “ You will see to-morrow.” He had indeed seen, 
and even his stolidity was shaken. 


336 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


Meanwhile, Rougon began to find his victory somewhat 
of an embarrassment. Alone in the Mayor’s private 
room, he listened to the dull stormings of the crowd below, 
and felt it utterly impossible for him to do what he knew 
to be expected of him, that was, to show himself upon the 
balcony. The blood through which he had trod hung 
like lead upon his feet. He asked himself what he 
should do until evening. His poor head was stunned by 
the excitement and events of the night, and he was 
literally unable to give an order, or suggest an expedient. 
What would be the end ? Where was Felicite dragging 
him? Would there be any more people whom he would 
be called upon to slay? He shivered; doubts assailed 
him. He saw the ramparts surrounded by an avenging 
army of the Republicans, when, all at once, he heard a 
hoarse shout : 

“ The Insurgents ! The Insurgents ! 9 

He started up, and lifting a curtain looked down on 
the crowd running distractedly across the Square. In a 
moment, as brief as a lightning flash, he saw himself 
ruined and assassinated. He cursed his wife, and cursed 
the entire town. 

He turned and looked behind him, as if seeking some 
way of escape. The crowd burst into wild applause ; at 
the same moment there followed shouts of joy which 
made the very windows rattle. Again he looked from 
the windows. The women were waving their handker- 
chiefs, and the men shaking hands with each other. 
Rougon could not understand what he saw. It seemed 


THE EOUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 337 

to him as if his very brain were turning. The huge, 
silent and deserted building weighed upon him like a 
nightmare. 

Rougon, when he made his confessions to F6licite, was 
utterly unable to say how long this season of intense sus- 
pense lasted. He could only remember that it was a 
sound of steps which finally aroused him. He expected 
to see men in blouses armed with pitchforks and axes; 
instead of which, he beheld the City Council in black 
coats and with radiant faces. Not a Member was missing. 
All these gentlemen had suddenly recovered their health 
on the reception of the good news. Granoux threw him- 
self into the arms of his friend. 

“ The soldiers have come ! ” he cried ; “ the soldiers ! ” 

And, in fact, a regiment, under the command of 
Colonel Masson and of the Prefect of the Department, 
had arrived. The glitter of their guns on the plain had 
been taken for the approach of the Insurgents. Rougon’s 
emotion was so great that tears rolled down his cheek. 
He wept. This heroic citizen wept ! The City Council 
watched these tears fall with respectful admiration. But 
Granoux fell once more on his friend’s neck, exclaiming : 

“I am so happy! You know I always speak the 
truth, and I am not ashamed, gentlemen, to acknowledge 
that we have all been afraid — all, except this grand 
creature. His courage has been absolutely sublime. I 
said just now to my wife, that Rougon was a great man, 
and that he ought to be decorated.” 

The gentlemen went on conversing, while Rougon 


338 


THE EOUGON-MACQUAET FAMILY. 


endeavored to collect himself — unable to believe in this 
sudden triumph, he lost all control of his voice and stam- 
mered like a child. At last he was able to speak with the 
dignity befitting the solemnity of the occasion. But this 
dignity was again shaken by the enthusiasm which greeted 
him when he appeared on the Square. He heard the voices 
of the people reiterate that it was he alone who had been 
unmoved by the universal panic. He drank in this 
applause with the silent joy of a woman whose unexpressed 
desires are at last appeased. 

The Prefect and the Colonel had entered the town alone, 
leaving the troops encamped on the road to Lyons. They 
had lost much time, having been greatly deceived as to the 
route taken by the Insurgents, whom they now knew to 
be at Orchdres. They had come themselves to Plassans to 
reassure the populace, and to publish the cruel decree which 
sequestred the property of the Insurgents, and condemned 
to death those who were found with arms in their hands. 
Colonel Masson smiled slightly when the huge iron bolts 
of the Roman gate were drawn with a frightful rattle. 
Rondier received these gentlemen and told them of Rou- 
gon’s brilliant acts — of the three days’ panic, and of the 
glorious victory of the preceding night. Consequently, 
when the Prefect entered the room where Rougon stood, 
he advanced toward him with outstretched hands, con- 
gratulated him, and implored him to continue to watch 
over the town until the return of the authorities, 
adding that he would not fail to report his magnificent 
conduct. 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 339 

Notwithstanding the cold, everybody was at the win- 
dows — F6licit6 leaning far out of hers at the risk of 
falling, and pale with joy. Aristide had just come in with 
a number of the Independent, in which he had declared 
himself squarely in favor of the Coup d’Etat, which he 
welcomes as “ the dawn of Liberty in Order, and Order in 
Liberty.” He made a delicate allusion to the yellow salon 
and to the great minds who reflected in silence and allowed 
insults to pass over in silence, showing their true courage 
and heroism only in the hour of need. He considered 
this last phrase especially happy. His mother was ex- 
tremely grateful, and embraced the dear boy, and placed 
him next her on her sofa. 

The Marquis de Carnavant was there also, eager and 
quietly attentive. 

When the Prefect shook hands with Rougon, Felicite 
wept. 

“ See ! see ! ” she cried to Aristide. u He pressed your 
father’s hand. Look ! He is still holding it !” 

She glanced at all the windows which overlooked the 
Square, and at the crowds of heads in each. 

“ How furious they must be ! Look at Madame Pierotte ; 
she is biting her handkerchief. And the Notary’s daugh- 
ters and Madame Massicot ! Did you ever see such 
long faces in your life? Yes, it is our turn now, good 
people!” 

She watched the whole scene with eager interest, her 
lithe body quivering as she gazed. She interpreted the 
least gesture, and invented the words she could not hear, 


340 THE EOUC OX-MACQUAET FAMILY. 

and said half aloud that her husband made a capital bow. 
Once she quite sobbed when the Prefect accorded a word 
or two to Granoux, probably in reference to the hammer, 
for the old merchant blushed like a young girl, and with 
a deprecating gesture seemed to say that he had done only 
his duty. 

But she was still more vexed at her husband’s foolish 
kindness in introducing Monsieur Vuillet to these gentle- 
men. Vuillet, it is true, kept so close to them that it was 
impossible for Rougon to do otherwise. 

“ What a manoeuvrer ! ” muttered Felicite. “He sticks 
his nose in everywhere ! And now the Colonel is talking 
to Pierre. What can he be saying ? ” 

“ Oh, my dear ! ” answered the Marquis, with delicate 
sarcasm, “he is only complimenting him on having kept 
the gates so carefully closed ! ” 

“My father saved the town,” said Aristide, dryly. 
“Have you seen the bodies, sir?” 

The Marquis made no reply. He went back to the 
window and dropped into a chair with a little shrug of the 
shoulders, and a slightly disgusted air. 

At this moment Rougon rushed into the room, clasped 
his wife to his bosom, and exclaimed : 

“ My best beloved ! ” 

He could say no more. Felicity bade him embrace 
Aristide also, and told him of the glorious article in the 
Independent. Pierre would have kissed the Marquis on 
both cheeks had he been bidden to do so. But his wife 
took him aside and gave him Eugene’s letter, which she 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 341 

had put into an outer envelope. She pretended that it had 
just been brought in. 

He read it and held it toward her with a laugh. 

“You are an absolute sorceress!” he said. “You 
guessed it all. Heaven only knows what follies I should 
have committed without you ! In future we will go into 
a mutual business. Yes, you are a smart woman.” 

He put his arm around her, while she exchanged a dis- 
creet smile with the Marquis. 


342 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE OLD CEMETERY. 

I T was on Sunday that the troops reached Plassans and 
encamped in the Faubourg, while the Prefect and the 
Colonel went to dine with the Mayor. The night was 
dark, except that the sky in the north was lighted with 
strange tawny streaks of yellow, like the copper-colored 
clouds which so often herald a storm. 

The reception accorded by the citizens was very timid; 
these soldiers smelling of blood — hot from slaughter — 
passing along in the gray twilight, silent and formidable, 
disgusted the crowd in the street, and later these men told 
their tales of fierce reprisals and formidable fusillades, of 
which the whole country has preserved the memory. The 
terror of the Coup d’Etat had begun — that terror which 
kept the South shivering through long, weary months. 

Plassans in her first fright and her hatred of the Insur- 
gents would have welcomed these soldiers with enthusiasm, 
but now before this sombre regiment the inhabitants asked 
themselves if they had not committed some political sins 
themselves which merited a few shot. 

The authorities returned in two carrioles hired at Sainte- 
Roure. Their entrance was by no means triumphant. 
Rougon vacated the Mayor’s arm-chair without regret. 
His hand was played, and he awaited his recompense from 
Paris. 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


343 


The following day came a letter from EugSne. F6licite 
had taken care to send her son the numbers of the Gazette 
and Independent which, in a second edition, had related the 
battle of the night and the arrival of the Prefect. Eugene 
wrote that the nomination of his father to a most desirable 
position was then on the point of being signed. “ But,” 
he added, “ I have good news for you. You will also have 
the ribbon of the Legion of Honor.” 

Felicite wept. Her husband decorated! Her proudest 
dreams had never gone so far as that. Rougon, pale with 
joy, talked about giving a great dinner, and threw to the 
people on the Square the very last pieces of silver he had 
in the world. 

“Listen to me,” he said to his wife; “ we will invite 
Secardot. He has bored me to death with his rosette for 
a long time. Then Rondier and Granoux, for I should 
not be sorry for them to feel that their money-bags will 
never win them the Cross. Vuillet is a skinflint, but we 
will ask him, too ; and you must go in person to invite the 
Marquis. You know that the Colonel and the Prefect 
dine at the Mayor’s, who has not invited me. He wished 
to show me how insignificant I was in his eyes, I presume. 
If he should ask me now, I should tell him that I, too, 
had friends to dinner. Order everything from the Hotel 
de Proven9e. We must overshadow the Mayor.” 

Felicity started forth on her mission. Pierre, amid all 
his joy, felt a vague uneasiness. The Coup d’Etat would 
pay all his debts. His son Aristide bemoaned his errors, 
and was penitent ; he had gotten rid of Macquart ; but lie 


344 THE KOUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

dreaded some escapade of Pascal’s, and was considerably 
disturbed by fears for Silvere — not that he pitied him the 
least in the world, but he was very unwilling that the 
affair of the gendarme should come before the courts. 
Ah ! if an intelligent bullet had only gone through that 
boy’s head. 

As his wife had pointed out to him that very morning, 
all obstacles had fallen before him ; his family had worked 
for his elevation, and Eugene and Aristide, these do-noth- 
ings, whose collegiate expenses he had so bitterly regretted, 
were at last paying the interest on the capital sunk in their 
education ; and now the thought of this miserable Silvere 
must come to mar this hour of triumph. 

While Felicity ran about, busy with preparations for her 
dinner, Pierre decided to go and make some inquiries for 
Silvere, but could find out nothing. Pascal had remained 
behind with the wounded. Kougon then went to the 
Faubourg, where the troops were encamped, hoping to see 
Macquart, and pay him the eight hundred francs, which 
he had gotten together with great difficulty. But when 
he saw the prisoners guarded by soldiers, with shining 
fire-arms in their hands, he was afraid of compromising 
himself, and retreated quietly to his mother’s, intending to 
send her in search of news. When he entered Adelaide’s 
dwelling, night was close at hand. He saw, at first, no 
one but Macquart, who sat smoking, with his brandy-bottle 
at his side. 

“Is that you?” muttered Macquart; “I am bored to 
death here. Have you brought the money?” 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


345 


But Pierre did not reply. He had just perceived his 
son Pascal leaning over the bed, and eagerly interrogated 
him. The Doctor, considerably surprised at this anxiety, 
which he at first attributed to paternal tenderness, answered 
quietly that the soldiers had taken him prisoner at one 
time, and that he should have been shot but for the inter- 
vention of a brave man whom he did not know. His title 
of Doctor was his safety-guard, and he had come on with 
the Regiment. It was a great relief to Pierre to find that 
he was not to be compromised in this direction. He 
expressed his joy in eager words, but Pascal checked him. 

“My poor grandmother is alarmingly ill,” he said. 
" I brought her back this gun which she so highly valued; 
and see ! she was lying as you see her.” 

Pierre’s eyes had now become accustomed to the dark- 
ness, and could discern Aunt Dide lying stiff, cold and 
dead upon the bed. This poor body, racked by nervous 
affections ever since it was rocked in the cradle, had at last 
succumbed. The nerves had, so to speak, eaten away the 
blood. The dull persistent work of this ardent flesh 
devouring itself in tardy chastity had made of the un- 
happy creature a mere mass which only a galvanic battery 
could move again. 

She seemed to have suffered intensely, for on her face, 
generally of nunlike pallor, were large red spots. The 
features were horribly convulsed, and the hands clenched 
and buried in her clinging skirts, which showed the ema- 
ciation of her poor body. 

Rougon shrugged his shoulders in a surly way. This 


346 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


heart-breaking sight was to him simply disagreeable ; he 
had company to dinner that day, and he did not wish to be 
dispirited. His mother had really been most ungenerous 
and wished to annoy him — by selecting just this time to 
die. He therefore answered hastily : 

“Oh! I have seen her like this an hundred times. Let 
her rest : that is all any one can do.” 

Pascal shook his head. 

“No,” he answered, gently; “this attack is like no 
other she has ever had. I have studied her faithfully, 
and this is very different. Look at her eyes: they have a 
peculiar fluidity and a strange clearness. And look at her 
face: do you not see the frightful tension of the muscles?” 

Then leaning over his grandmother, Pascal continued, 
as if speaking to himself: 

“ I have seen faces like that before, but they were per- 
sons who had been assassinated — who had died of fright. 
She must have had some terrible shock.” 

“But how did the attack come on?” asked Rougon, 
impatiently — not knowing how to get away. 

Pascal did not know; but Macquart, as he filled his 
glass, said he had sent his mother to buy a bottle of 
Cognac. She was gone a long time, and when she came 
in she fell stiff on the floor, without a word. Macquart 
had carried her to the bed himself. 

“ The thing that astonishes me,” he said, in conclusion, 
“ is that she did not break the bottle.” 

The Doctor thought for a minute, and said at last: 

“On my way here, I heard two shots — perhaps they 


THE ROUGON-MACQUAET FAMILY. 347 

were shooting some of the prisoners. If she happened to 
be passing at the moment, the sight of the blood may have 
thrown her into this state — ” 

As he spoke he tried to introduce between the close-shut 
teeth of Aunt Dide a few drops of a restorative which he 
took from a little box he always carried about him. 

Macquart asked his brother again if he had brought the 
money. 

And Rougon, glad of this diversion, answered that he 
had. 

Macquart, seeing that he was to be paid, now began to 
complain. He understood only too late the weight and 
consequences of his treason, or he would have asked five 
times as much. A thousand francs would not have been 
too much. His children had deserted him ; he was alone 
in the world, and obliged to leave France; and he actually 
wept as he spoke of his exile. 

“Will you have the eight hundred francs?” said 
Rougon, impatiently, for he was anxious to depart. 

“No; I want twice that. Your wife cheated me. If 
she had said right out what she expected of me, I would 
never have compromised myself for such a trifle.” 

Rougon dashed the eight hundred francs upon the table. 

“I assure you,” he said, “that you will have no more; 
I beg you to leave to-night, and if you do, I will not 
forget you.” 

Macquart, still grumbling, pushed the table nearer the 
window, and began to count the gold pieces. He rang the 
money on the table, and felt of them with lingering 


348 


THE KOU G ON-M ACQU ART FAMILY. 


delight; the jingling filled the room. He interrupted 
himself an instant, and said : 

“ You promised me some sort of a position, and I should 
like one in some good country town.” 

“Yes, yes, I will attend to that,” answered Rougon. 
“Have you your eight hundred francs?” 

Macquart began to count them. The last Louis fell 
from his fingers when a sudden burst of wild laughter 
caused him to start and look round. 

Aunt Dide was sitting up in bed, with her gray hair 
astray upon her shoulders, and her pale face with its crim- 
son spots. With extended arms and shaking head she 
called out, deliriously: 

“ The price of blood ! the price of blood ! I heard the 
gold — I heard it! And it is they who sold him. Ah! 
the assassins — the wolves ! ” 

She threw back her hair, and passed her hand over her 
forehead. Then she continued: 

“I have seen him ever so long; seen him with his fore- 
head pierced by a bullet. I have seen people taking aim at 
him with guns. They kept whispering in my ear for days 
and weeks that they meant to shoot him, and it killed me. 
Have mercy on him, good people; have mercy! He shall 
never see her again — never — never! I will keep him 
with me always. Oh ! do not fire — it was not my fault ! 
If you only knew — ” 

She struggled forward upon her knees, weeping, strug- 
gling, imploring — extending her poor trembling hands 
toward some lamentable vision that she saw in the dark 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 349 

shadow of the room. Then suddenly she drew back, 
her eyes starting out of her head, and from her convulsed 
throat escaped a hoarse, terrible cry, as if some spectacle 
that she alone could see filled her with mad terror. 

“ Oh, the gendarme ! ” she said, choking and falling back 
on the bed, where she rolled with long bursts of frenzied 
laughter. 

Pascal watched her attentively. The two brothers, in 
great fright, retreated to the farthest corner of the room. 
When Rougon heard the word “ gendarme,” he thought 
he understood, for ever since the death of her lover on 
the frontier, Aunt Dide nourished a profound hatred 
against the gendarmes and Custom House officers, whom 
she confounded. 

“ It is the story of the smuggler she is telling you,” said 
Macquart. 

Pascal signed to him to be quiet. The dying woman 
struggled into a sitting position once more, and looked 
around with a stupefied air, as if she had suddenly awa- 
kened and found herself in some unknown place. Then, 
with a start, she said : 

“ Where is the gun ?” 

The physician put the gun into her hands. She uttered 
an exclamation of joy. She looked at it tenderly, touched 
it caressingly, saying in a childish voice : 

“ Yes, this is it; and it is all stained with blood — fresh 
blood. Red hands have touched this barrel. Oh ! poor 
Aunt Dide ! — poor Aunt Dide ! ” 

Her sick brain took another turn. 

“The gendarme was dead,” she murmured; “but he 

22 


350 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

came back; I saw him myself. Such creatures never 
really die ! ” 

Suddenly, with a furious air, and pointing the gun, she 
advanced to her two sons, who were crouched in a corner 
mute with horror. Her loosened skirts trailed after her ; 
her shoulders, bowed under the weight of years, were bare 
and frightfully wrinkled. 

“ It was you who shot him ! ” she cried. “ I heard the 
gold. I had but one poor child, and they devoured him, 
for they are wolves. Oh ! the vile creatures ! They robbed 
him and killed him, and live like gentlemen. Curse them 
all! Curse them all !” 

She sang and she laughed, and repeated these words — 
“ Curse them all ! ” with a strange musical intonation. 

Pascal with tears in his eyes took her in his arms, and 
laid her back upon her bed. She submitted like a child. 
She continued her song, accelerating the rhythm, beating 
the measure on the sheets with her withered hands. 

“That is precisely what I feared , 19 said the physician. 
“She is mad. The blow was too rude for a poor creature 
whose mind was already weakened by nervous attacks. 
She will die in an insane asylum as her father did.” 

“But what could she have seen?” asked Rougon, 
emerging from the corner where he had retreated. 

“I have a terrible suspicion,” answered Pascal. “I wish 
to say something to you about Silvere. He is a prisoner, 
and there is no time to lose, if you wish to save him.” 

Pierre looked at his son, and turned very pale, as in a 
rapid voice, he replied ; 


THE EOUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 351 

"I will go and see the Prefect at once, if you will 
promise to watch over your grandmother until to-morrow, 
when we will have her taken to the asylum at Tulettes. 
You, Macquart, must go to-night — ” 

He stammered, and tripped over his words, longing to 
be out in the street again. Pascal looked from his father 
to his uncle, and then to his grandmother. His instincts 
as a savant carried him away ; he studied the mother and 
the son with the attention of a naturalist, watching the 
metamorphose of an insect; and he thought of this family 
as of a tree which throws out its different branches, and 
whose bitter sap permeates the smallest stems and twigs. 
He saw, as by a lightning flash, the future of the 
Roiigon-Macquart family, with their cowardly, hungry 
instincts, baying like hounds in hot pursuit of gold. 

At the sound of Silvered name Aunt Hide stopped 
speaking. She listened a moment, and then uttered the 
most frightful yells. The room was now utterly dark, 
and the cries of the mad woman rang as from a closed 
tomb. Rougon fled in dismay. 

As he left Saint-Mittre, he asked himself if it were not 
most unwise to ask mercy for Silv&re, from the Prefect. 
While deliberating on this point he saw Aristide, who, 
recognizing his father from a distance, hurried to meet him, 
and said a few words in a low voice. Pierre turned pale, 
and looked toward the fire which the gypsies had lighted 
in the distance, and then the two men disappeared through 
the Roman gate, pulling up their collars to hide their 
faces. 


352 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


“That saves me a needless walk,” muttered Rougon. 
“ Let us go to dinner ; they are waiting for us now.” 

When they arrived, the yellow salon was resplendent. 
Everybody was there with the exception of the Marquis, 
who pretended that he was suffering from rheumatism, and 
was also on the eve of a little journey — the truth was 
that he had become so utterly disgusted with these people 
that he could not sit down at their table, and his relative, 
the Comte de Valqueyras, had asked him to pay him a 
long visit at his country-seat. 

This refusal from the Marquis annoyed the Rougons, 
but Felicity consoled herself with the unwonted display in 
which she was permitted to indulge. She hired two can- 
delabra, and ordered two more entrees and another course, 
to make amends for the absence of the Marquis. The 
table, to do justice to the occasion, was laid in the salon, 
and the Hotel de Provence furnished all the glass, silver 
and porcelain. At five o’clock the table was spread 
that the guests might be struck by it in all its glory as 
soon as they entered. At either end stood, on the white 
linen, two large bouquets of artificial roses in vases of gilt- 
edged china, highly painted. 

The little circle could not conceal the admiration aroused 
by this beautiful sight. The men exchanged smiles and 
stealthy glances, which meant that the Rougons were 
throwing their money away. The fact was that F6licit6, 
when she went to give her invitations, was unable to hold 
her tongue. She told everybody that Pierre was to be 
decorated, and also to have some fat office; and this 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


353 


information made them singularly observant. It struck 
them as a little hard that Rougon should bear off all the 
honors when they were quite ready to do as much dirty 
work as he. 

Those who had made the most noise and cared least for 
the Empire were profoundly vexed to see that, thanks to 
themselves, the very poorest among them was the one to 
wear the red ribbon in his button-hole ! The whole salon 
should, by rights, have been decorated. 

“It is not that I care a sou for the decoration,” said 
Rondier to Granoux, as they stood together in the em- 
brasure of the window. “ I refused it in the time of Louis 
Philippe, when I was Furnisher to the Court. Ah ! Louis 
Philippe was a good king. France will never have 
another like him ! ” 

Rondier had actually become an Orleanist again ! Then 
he added, with considerable hypocrisy : 

“ But with you, my dear Granoux, it is vastly different. 
Don’t you think a red ribbon would look as well in your 
button-hole as in Rougon’s? Have not you, after all, 
done quite as much for the town as he? Yesterday, I 
heard the whole affair discussed, and no one believed that 
you could have made so much noise with a hammer ! ” 

Granoux stammered a few words of thanks, and colored 
like a young girl, as he leaned toward Rondier and 
whispered : 

“ Pray do not mention it. But I have reason to think 
that Rougon will ask for the Ribbon for me.” 

Rondier became very grave and extremely polite to 


354 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

every one. Vuillet came toward him, and began to talk 
of the recompense which their friend was to receive, and 
Rondier answered, loud enough to be heard by F6licit6, 
that men like Rougon honored the Legion of Honor. 
The Librarian that morning had received the formal assu- 
rance that the custom of the college should be restored to 
him. 

Secardot felt that only soldiers were entitled to the 
Ribbon, but he was excessively surprised at Pierre’s 
courage, and quietly said that Napoleon certainly knew 
how to recognize merit and courage. 

Rougon and Aristide were greeted with enthusiasm and 
outstretched hands. Angele sat on a sofa by the side of 
her mother-in-law, looking at the table with intense 
delight and longing. 

Secardot complimented his son-in-law on his superb 
article in the Independent, and showed him especial 
cordiality. 

The young man, in reply to his questions, replied that 
his strongest desire was to depart with his family for Paris, 
where his brother Eugene was quite ready to push him, 
but he could not do this for lack of money : he needed 
five hundred francs. Secardot agreed to give him this 
amount; and in his imagination saw his daughter received 
at the court of Napoleon III. 

Felicity made a little sign to her husband, and Pierre 
escaped for a moment from the room. On his return he 
whispered to his wife that he had found Pascal, and that 
Macquart would leave that night. He lowered his voice 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


355 


still more as he told her of his mother’s insanity, and bade 
her keep it to herself, “ for it would spoil our soirSe,” he 
added. Husband and wife exchanged a look wherein 
each read the thought of the other : that the old woman 
could give them no more trouble. The smuggler’s house 
could now be torn down, as the Fonque walls had been, 
and they would have the respect and consideration of the 
whole town. 

But the guests began to look impatiently toward the 
table, and F6licit6 requested them to take their seats. As 
each lifted his spoon Secardot arose, and with a gesture 
begged for a moment’s attention. 

“ Gentlemen,” he said, “ in the name of Society, I wish 
to say to our host how glad we are that he is to be duly 
rewarded for his courage and patriotism. I recognize the 
fact that Rougon by a direct interposition from heaven 
was retained in Plassans, while those rascals dragged us 
along the highways. Therefore I, with both hands, 
applaud the decision of the Government. Permit me to 
finish. You will congratulate our friend also on the fact 
that in addition to being made Chevalier of the Legion of 
Honor, he is also to be appointed to a most desirable 
office.” 

There was a little exclamation of surprise, a forced 
smile from some of the guests, and many congratulations. 

Secardot asked for a minute more of attention. 

“ I have not finished,” he said. “We are happy, how- 
ever, in retaining our friend with us owing to the death of 
Monsieur Pierotte.” 


356 


THE KOUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


An exclamation ran around the table. F61icite felt a 
sharp contraction of her heart. Secardot had told her of 
the death of the Receiver, but this sudden and frightful 
death thus abruptly spoken of in the beginning of this 
triumphal dinner, was like a cold blast full in her face. 
She remembered her wish — it was she who had killed this 
man ! With a great rattle of spoons and glasses the 
dinner proceeded. In the Provinces people eat much and 
noisily. All talked at once, and spoke of their vanquished 
foes with some roughness, and of the absence of the 
Marquis with a sneer. Rondier asserted that the noble- 
man had been in such terror of the Insurgents that fear 
had given him the jaundice. 

Before the dinner was over, Granoux was very red and 
Vuillet very pale, but both equally tipsy. Secardot con- 
tinued to drink with undiminished energy. Augele 
sipped glasses of eau sucree after she could not eat 
another mouthful. 

The delight of feeling themselves out of danger, of 
finding themselves in the yellow salon around a table 
well lighted and well spread, made these people a trifle 
reckless. 

The dinner, as one among them gracefully expressed it, 
was “ a true Lucullus feast.” Pierre’s pale face was tri- 
umphant. Felicity said carelessly that they would very 
likely hire poor Pierotte’s house until they could buy 
such a one as they wanted. As she talked she mentally 
arranged their furniture in the house across the street. 

Suddenly she started, and rising from her chair went to 
Aristide and whispered in his ear ; 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


357 


“And SilvSre ? ” she said ; “ where is he ? ” 

The young man, surprised by this question, started. 
“He is dead,” he answered, hoarsely. “I was there 
when the gendarme blew out his brains with a pistol.” 

Felicite shivered. Her lips parted. She was about to 
ask her son why he had not prevented the murder, but 
she could not speak. Aristide read the question on her 
trembling lips, and murmured : 

“I could say nothing, for I felt that it was a good 
thing, though rather hard on him! ” 

This brutal frankness displeased Felicite. She knew 
that Aristide never would have made this avowal if he 
had not been drinking, and if he had not been exhilarated 
by his Parisian plans and prospects. He wavered to and 
fro upon his chair. Pierre, who had watched this conver- 
sation, cast a glance of entreaty upon his son. As Felicite 
returned to her chair, she caught a glimpse through the 
closed window of a candle burning on the other side of the 
street. The candle was at the head of Monsieur Pierotte’s 
coffin. His body had been brought home that morning. 
She took her seat, and felt the heat of this candle scorch- 
ing her shoulders. At this moment the dessert was brought 
in, eliciting cries of enthusiasm. 

The return of the troops, after the carnage on the 
Plaine des Nores, was characterized by the most hideous 
reprisals. Men were shot down from behind the walls ; 
others were sent tumbling to the bottom of a ravine by the 
deliberate aim of a gendarme, and the dead were strewn 
on either side of the highway. The troops could have 


358 


THE ROUGON -M ACQU ART FAMILY. 


been followed by the tracks of blood they left behind 
them. At each halt they massacred a few Insurgents: 
two were killed at Sainte-Roure ; three at Orch£res, and 
one at Beage. 

At Plassans they proposed to shoot one or more of the 
prisoners, that the town might feel a proper respect for 
the new-born Empire. But the soldiers were many of 
them weary of slaughter, and no one moved. The 
prisoners, tied hand and foot, listened and waited in a sort 
of stupor. 

At this moment, Rengade, the gendarme whose eye 
Silvere had put out, approached. As soon as he heard 
of the arrival of the soldiers and that they had with 
them a hundred or more prisoners, he started up, shivering 
with fever, and at the risk of his life went out into the 
cold and darkness of the wintry night. His wound 
reopened. The bandage which covered his empty orbit 
was stained with blood, and drops ran down upon his 
cheek and moustache. 

He ran from prisoner to prisoner, looking in each 
shrinking face, for he was a most appalling sight; sud- 
denly he cried : 

“ I have him ! I have him !” 

He laid his hand on Silvere’s shoulder. 

The boy w r as looking out into vacancy — seeing nothing, 
hearing nothing. Ever since they left Sainte-Roure he had 
had this same stunned expression. He had obeyed each 
order given with the docility of a child. Covered with 
dust, he toiled on like a patient animal driven by a 


THE EOUGON-MACQUART FAMILY* 


359 


shepherd. His thoughts were with Miette. He saw her 
lying upon the flag under the tree, with her eyes wide open 
to the sky. For three days he had seen only this, and 
now in the gathering darkness he saw her still. 

Rengade turned to the officer, who could not induce any 
of his men to volunteer to carry out the execution he pro- 
posed. 

“This fellow put out my eye,” he said. “Give him 
to me.” 

The officer made no reply, but walked off with an 
indifferent air. The gendarme understood at once that 
he could do as he pleased. 

“Get up ! ” he said, shaking the lad. 

Silv£re, like all the other prisoners, was chained to a 
companion. He was attached to a peasant — a man from 
Ponjols, named Mourgue — a man of fifty, of whom hot 
suns and hard work had made a mere brute. He was 
much bent, and his hands were stiff; his face utterly stolid, 
except for a certain fashion of working his eyes, which had 
a cautious, timid expression in them like that of a beaten 
hound. 

He had left home with his pitchfork over his shoulder 
only because all the other peasants did, and could have 
given no other reason why he was on the high road. Why 
he was taken prisoner, he understood still less. He had a 
vague notion that he was being taken to his home. All 
the terrible sights he had seen, the curiosity with which 
he was regarded, brutalized him still more. He did not 
speak, for no one understood his patois, and had no idea 
what the gendarme had said or wanted. 


360 


THE EOUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


Fancying, however, that it might be the name of his 
village, he lifted his dull face and said, in guttural tones : 

“I am from Panjols.” 

A loud laugh followed this, mingled with cries : 

“ Loosen the peasant! Let him loose, I say ! ” 

“ Pshaw ! ” answered Pengade, “ the more of these 
vermin we tread under our heels the better! As long as 
they are together, they may as well go off together ! ” 

There was a murmur. 

The gendarme turned his terrible face toward the 
disapproving crowd, and they scattered. 

A dapper little tradesman hastily withdrew, saying that 
if he stayed another minute, he should be too sick to eat 
his dinner. Somebody, who recognized Silvere, said some- 
thing about the girl in red ; then the little tradesman came 
back for a closer inspection of the lover of the girl with 
the flag — of the creature he had read about in the Gazette . 

Silvere neither saw nor heard. Pengade took him by 
the collar and pulled him up — Mourgue, of course, with 
him. 

“Come,” said the gendarme, whom Silvere at last 
recognized. 

The boy quickly turned his head aside. The sight was 
a cruel shock to him, and he shrank from the one 
eye of this man, which glittered below the folds of 
linen. 

Silvere walked directly toward Saint-Mittre, Pengade 
rather following than leading. The field lay desolate 
under the yellow sky, whose copper clouds cast a strange 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 361 

and lurid light upon the scene. Never had the spot been 
so utterly dreary. The tall trestles in the corner sug- 
gested a guillotine, and no living thing was to be seen 
except three gypsies, who with wild eyes thrust their 
hands from out their cart. They were an old man and 
woman, and a young girl whose eyes shone like those of a 
hungry wolf. 

Silv&re looked down toward the well-known path. 
He remembered a far-off Sunday when, on a beautiful 
moonlight night, he had trodden it. How sweet it was 
then ! How clearly the pale rays brought out each twig ! 
Now how cold and ghastly it was ! The gypsy girl sang a 
strange melody in an unknown tongue. Then Silvere 
remembered that this far-away Sunday was not more than 
a week old, and that he had then come to say farewell to 
Miette. It seemed to him years since his feet had trod 
that familiar path, and when they turned into the narrow 
alley his heart failed him. He recognized the odor of 
the grass, the shadow of each plant, and the holes in the 
wall. A wail seemed to fill the air, ascending from all 
these well-known objects. 

The alley seemed to stretch away as if it were miles 
long. He felt the wind blow cold and damp upon him. 
The corner had grown strangely old. He saw the wall 
rusty with moss; the turf ruined by the frost; the piles 
of boards mouldy with dampness: it was desolation. 
The yellow twilight fell like a fine dust over the ruins 
of all his hopes. He closed his eyes. He saw the alley 
green and fresh again ; it was warm, and he was there 


362 


THE EOUGON-MACQUAET FAMILY. 


with Miette. Then came December rains, cold and raw; 
but they were still there, and, sheltered by the boards, 
listened with delight to the roar of the shower. 

In one brief moment he lived over all his life. Miette 
jumped over the wall and ran toward him, laughing as 
she came. He could see her now in the dim shadow, and 
could hear her talk of the birds’ nests, and the trees she 
could climb. Then he caught the soft murmur of the 
river, the hum of the locusts, and the wind that sighed 
through the poplars in the Sainte-Claire meadows. How 
they ran ! and how utterly out of breath they were ! 

He remembered it all. She had learned to swim in two 
weeks. She was a brave child, with only one fault : she 
would take the fruit, and he had lectured her. The 
recollection of their first caresses brought him back to 
Saint-Mittre. He heard the clocks striking and the 
closing of the shutters in the houses near by, and saw the 
last gleam of the expiring embers of the gypsy’s fire. It 
was time for Miette to go. She kissed her hand to him 
from the wall. He should not see her again — never, 
never again. A terrible pang tore his heart. 

“Come,” sneered the blind man, “choose your own 
place.” 

Silv&re went on a little farther. He was nearly at the 
end of the alley, and could see a narrow streak of copper- 
colored sky. There for two years he had spent the 
better part of his life. The slow approach of death was 
ineffably sweet to him. He delayed, and said adieu to 
each thing he loved — to the grass, and to the stones of the 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


363 


old wall- — to all of which Miette had given so much of 
her vivid personality, and his thoughts wandered once 
more. They were only waiting until they were old 
enough to marry. Aunt Dide would have lived with 
them. 

Ah ! if they had but fled to some distant village 
where the vagabonds of the Quartier could not have flung 
in Miette’s face the crime of her father! What happy 
peace theirs might have been ! He would have opened a 
blacksmith’s shop on the edge of some well-travelled road. 
His old ambition was gone ; he cared no more for the 
showy carriages, but in the confusion of his thoughts he 
could not recall why his dream of felicity would never be 
realized. Why should he not yet go away with Miette and 
Aunt Dide ? Suddenly he remembered the fusillade : he 
saw a flag droop before him, rushing against his cheek like 
the wings of some gigantic bird broken in its flight. It was 
the Republic, which lay stiff and stark by Miette’s side 
under that red flag. They were both dead. Both had 
wounds in their breasts from which the life-blood was 
slowly welling. His two loves died at one blow, and now 
he was ready to die too. He saw himself again kneeling 
at the side of his beloved dead under the trees, amid 
the smoke of the powder. 

But the blind man was becoming impatient. 

“ Come on,” he said. “ I am tired of this.” 

Silvere started. He looked down at his feet. A frag- 
ment of a skull lay whitening in the grass. He fancied 
that the alley was full of voices. The dead were calling 


364 THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 

him — the old dead — those whose hot breaths, during those 
July evenings, had troubled him and his sweetheart so 
strangely. He knew their voices; he heard them say 
that Miette should be his once more in some place under 
the earth more secluded even than their old trysting- 
place. 

The Cemetery, which had sought to fill the hearts of the 
two children with keen desire, now seemed eager to drink 
Silvere’s warm blood. 

“ Is this the place ? ” asked the blind man. 

The young man looked about him : they had reached 
the end of the alley. He saw the flat tomb and started. 
Miette was right : that stone was for her. 

“ Cy — gist — Marie — Morte.” 

She was dead. He leaned against the stone ; it was the 
very spot which her feet first touched as she came over the 
wall. 

The gendarme loaded his pistol. 

The thought of dying pleased Silv£re. He had longed 
for death as he marched on that dusty highway. Had he 
known where Death would find him, the knowledge would 
have given wings to his feet. To die on this stone, to die 
in this alley, which seemed to him pervaded by Miette’s 
presence, was a consolation for which he had not dared to 
hope. Heaven was very good ! He waited with a vague 
smile. The peasant had seen the pistols — until then he 
had no interest in where they were going. Now, filled 
with terror, he threw himself at the feet of the gen- 
darme, repeating over and over again : 


THE EOUGON-MACQUAET FAMILY. 


365 


a I am from Ponjols ! I am from Ponjols ! ” 

He apparently thought that he was taken for some one 
else. 

“ What do I care where you come from?” grumbled 
Rengade. 

And as the poor peasant, weeping with terror, not 
understanding why he was to die, extended his trembling 
hands, hardened and distorted by toil, and stammered 
that he had done no wrong, the fierce gendarme, impa- 
tient at not being able to place the pistol precisely where 
he wished, shouted : 

“ Have done with your noise ! 99 

Then Mourgue, mad with terror, began to howl like a 
beast or a pig whose throat is being cut. 

“ Will you hold your tongue?” repeated the gendarme, 
firing as he spoke. The peasant rolled, a heavy mass, at 
his feet, and then rebounded toward the pile of boards. 
The violence of the shock had broken the cord which 
attached him to his companion. Silvere fell on his knees 
before the tomb. 

Rengade had refined his vengeance by killing Mourgue 
first. He played with his second pistol, raising it slowly, 
taking aim at Silvere, and dropping it again. The 
youth calmly looked at him. The gendarme, with his one 
burning eye, disturbed him. He turned away his eyes, 
fearing that he would die like a coward if he continued to 
look at this man with the blood-stained bandage and 
moustache. As he raised his eyes he saw Justin’s 
head over the wall, just where Miette was in the habit of 
first speaking to him. 

23 


366 


THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


Justin was at the Roman gate among the crowd when 
the gendarme took the two men away as his prisoners. 
He ran as fast as his legs would take him through the 
grounds of Jas-Meiffren, not wishing to lose the spectacle 
of the execution. The thought, that he, the only one of 
the good-for-nothings of the Faubourg, would be able to 
see the sight at his ease, as if from a balcony, caused him 
to go so rapidly that he fell head-over-heels more than 
once. He arrived too late for the first tragedy ; he heard 
the pistol-shot as he climbed the mulberry tree. When 
he saw that Silv&re was still living, he smiled. The sol- 
diers had told him of Miette’s death, and he waited to see 
Silv£re die with the pleasure which it was his nature to 
feel in the sufferings of others. Silvere, recognizing this 
head, with its pale, freckled face and dishevelled hair, 
experienced a spasm of wild rage and a longing to live. 
This was the last revolt of his nature — a momentary rebel- 
lion. He fell on his knees once more, and looked before 
him. In the melancholy twilight, he beheld a strange 
vision — at the end of the alley, at the entrance to Saint- 
Mi ttre, he fancied he saw Aunt Dide standing stiff and 
rigid as if carved of stone. 

At this moment the cold muzzle of the pistol touched 
his temple. Justin laughed. Silvere closed his eyes, and 
heard the voices of the dead in the church-yard calling him 
eagerly. In the darkness he still saw Miette under the 
trees, wrapped in the flag. Then the gendarme pulled the 
trigger ; the child’s skull burst like a ripe pomegranate; his 
face fell on the stone, and his lips touched the spot worn 
by Miette’s feet. 


THE EOUGON-MACQUART FAMILY. 


367 


And at the Rougons’ that evening — at dessert — gay 
laughter ran around the table. At last they enjoyed the 
same pleasures as the rich. Their appetites, sharpened by 
thirty years of restrained desires, showed ferocious teeth. 
These unsatiated, hungry creatures welcomed the birth of 
the Empire, the reign of the eager quarry. The Coup 
d’Etat founded the fortunes of the Rougons as well as the 
Bonapartes. Pierre stood with his glass in his hand. 

“ I drink to the health of Prince Louis, to the Em- 
peror ! ” he cried. 

These gentlemen, who had drowned their jealousies in 
champagne, drank this toast with enthusiasm. It was a 
fine spectacle to see all these people embracing and con- 
gratulating each other over the dead body — the body of 
the Republic that was still warm. Secardot had a happy 
thought. He took from Felicite’s head-dress a knot of red 
satin ribbon, which she wore over her right ear. He cut 
it with his dessert-knife, and passed it solemnly through 
Rougon’s button-hole, who with a radiant face played 
great modesty, and gently pushed aside his friend’s offi- 
cious hand. 

“ No, no,” he said ; “ it is too soon. We must await 
the movements of the Government.” 

“ Sacrebleu ! ” cried Secardot. “ Let it be ! It is one of 
Napoleon’s old soldiers who decorates you !” 

All the salon joined in the applause. FSlicite was in 
ecstasies. Granoux, in his enthusiasm, mounted upon a 
chair, waved a napkin and uttered a brief discourse which 
was lost in the uproar. The yellow salon was wild with 
excitement. 


368 


THE ROU GON-M ACQU ART FAMILY. 


But the bit of red satin, placed in Pierre’s button-hole, 
was not the only red stain in the Rougons’ triumphal 
march. Forgotten under the bed in the next room lay a 
shoe with a bloody heel. The candle, at the head of 
Monsieur Pierotte’s coffin on the other side of the street, 
was like an open wound. And afar off, at the end of the 
alley in Saint-Mittre, a sea of blood was slowly coagulating 
on the flat tomb. 


THE END. 


EMILE ZOLA’S GREAT BOOKS. 


Ii’Assominoir. A Novel. By jfimile Zol/a, the great French novelist. Over One 
Hundred Thousand Copies have already been sold in France of “ L’Assommoir.” 

“ L’Assommoir” is one of the greatest novels ever printed, and has already attained a 
sale in France of over One Hundred Thousand Copies. It will be found to be one of 
the most extraordinary works ever written, full of nature and of art, dramatic, narrative, 
and pictorial. In it, vice is never made attractive, but “ Zola” paints it in all its hideous 
reality, so that it may tend to a moral end, for in it he unquestionably calls “a spade a 
spade.” As a picture of woe and degradation springing from drunkenness, “ L’Assommoir” 
is without a rival. Zola has attained a measure of success scarcely paralleled in our 
generation, and his themes and his style, his aims, methods, and performances provoke 
the widest attention and the liveliest discussions throughout the whole of Europe. The 
translator, John Stirling, has done his work in the most able and satisfactory manner, 
with great tact, delicacy and refinement. Complete in one large square duodecimo vol- 
ume, price 75 ceuts in paper cover, or One Dollar in Morocco Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Tile Alibi’s Temptation 5 or. La Faute <le L’Abb4 Mouret. A 

Love Story. By Emile, Zola , author of “ L’Assommoir,” “ Helene,” etc. 

“ Thr Abba’s Temptation,” by £mile Zola, writes one of the most noted literary 
editors in New York, to John Stirling, the translator, “is the sweetest love story I ever 
read, and is a great book, for there is much in the work that is lovelj - and pathetic. It is 
a work of marvellous ability, not immoral in any sense, while it teaches a great lesson. 
The Abbe Mouret, brother of Helene, who serves to point the moral in Zola’s previous 
work, entitled, 4 Hel£ne; or, Une Page D ’Am our,’ is the Cure of a poor village whose in- 
habitants are steeped in all the degradation of peasant life. In the Abbe is developed the 
devotional spirit of his mother. Innocent of all guile, uncomfortable and blushing at 
the confessions of his female parishioners, devoted to the worship of the Virgin Mary, he, 
with his half-witted sister, lives a life of purity and happiness, until his mind is unbal- 
anced by the constant strain on both mind and body, caused by his incessant vigils. To 
save his life, his uncle, Dr. Pascal, takes him to a deserted villa, and confides him to the 
care of a half-wild niece of the man in charge. Gradually his reason is restored ; anu 
wiih returning reason comes health, strength and love. As Zola depicts the innocent 
love and purity of the unhappy Abbe, one can scarce believe that he, who wrote 4 L’Assom- 
moir,’ can be the author of this sw eet, pathetic, and charming love story.” Complete in 
one large volume, price 75 cents in paper, or $1.25 in Morocco Cloth, Black and Gold. 

lieK'iu* ; or, ITne Pajye B’Ainotir. By itmile Zola, author of “ L’Assommoir* 
“The Abbe’s Temptation; or, La Faute de L’Abbe Mouret,” etc. 

“Emile Zola” is the greatest author in France at the present day. His novel, 
“ L’Assommoir,'’ published by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, has already had a sale in France 
of over One Hundred Thousand Copies, and “ Helene,” which is extremely interesting — 
indeed, exciting — lately issued there, has already passed into its forty-eighth edition. One 
of the most noted literary editors in New York wrote as follows to Mrs. Sherwood, the 
translator: “ I have just finished reading, and return to you by mail, your advance copy 
of 4 Zola’s ’ extraordinary bo k , 4 Helene.’ It is admirably written, and is full of pow erful 
and life-like delineations of character, and you, with your skill, will have no difficulty in 
rendering it into pure English. By all means translate it at once, and your publishers 
will have the honor of introducing the cleverest book as well as a new and the greatest 
writer of the day to the American public.” And in a letter received by Mrs. Sherwood 
from one of the most celebrated critics in Paris, he says Why do you not translate 
4 Zola’s’ new book, ‘ Helene,’ at once? It is the great sensation over here. The book 
is admirably written by a truly great artist, and would prove to be a great success in 
America. The characters and scenes of the story are well conceived and well executed, 
and it is impossible to deny the author’s great skill, and every reader will acknowledge 
1 Zola’s ’ great power. Besides the story, there are many pages devoted to rapturous de- 
scriptions of Paris at sunrise, at noonday, at sunset, and at night. Zola has made his 
name famous, and be will find plenty of readers for all he w'rites.” Complete in one 
large square duodecimo volume, price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Morocco Cloth, 
Black and Gold. 

gi'W ” Above Books are for sale by all Booksellers, or copies will be sent to any 
•place, at once, per mail, post-paid, on remitting price to the publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 

306 Chestnut St., Philadelphia, Pa. 


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T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS take pleasure in calling the attention of the 
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28 


T. B. PETERSON and BROTHERS’ NEW BOOKS. 

Booksellers, News Agents, and all others in want of good and fast- 
selling books will please send in their orders at once. 


EMILE ZOLA’S GREAT WORKS. 

L’Assommoir. By Emile Zola. The Greatest Novel ever printed. Price 
75 cents in paper cover, or $1.00 in cloth, black and gold. 

The Rougon-Macquart Family ; or, La Fortune Dee Rougoti. By Emile 
Zola. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in cloth. 

The Abbe’s Temptation ; or, La Faute De L' Abbe Mouret. By Emile Zola. 

Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in cloth, black and gold. 

He one, a Love Episode; or, Une Page D' Amour. By Emile Zola. 
Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in morocco cloth, black and gold. 

HENRY GREVILLE’S GREAT NOVELS. 

Dosia. A Russian Story. By Henry Grioille, author of “ Markof.” 
Philomene’s Marriages. With Author’s Preface. By Henry Greville. 
Pretty Little Countess Zina. By Henry Greville, author of “Dosia.” 
Marrying Off a Daughter. A Love Story. By Henry Griville. 

Above are in paper cover, price 75 cents each, or in cloth, at $1.25 each. 

Saveli’s Expiation. A Powerful Novel. By Henry Greville. 

Dournof. A Russian Story. By Henry Greville, author of “Dosia.” 
Bonne-Marie. A Tale of Normandy and Paris. By Henry Greville. 

A Friend; or, “L’Ami.” By Henry Greville, author of “Dosia.” 

Sonia. A Love Story. By Henry Greville, author of “Dosia.” 
Gabrielle; or, The House of Maureze. By Henry Greville. 

Above are in paper cover, price 50 cents each, or in cloth, at $1.00 each. 

Markof, the Russian Violinist. A Russian Story. By Henry Gr6ville, 
author of “ Dosia.” One volume, 12mo., morocco cloth. Price $1.50. 

MRS. BURNETT’S LOVE STORIES. 

Kathleen. A Love Story. By Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett. 

A Quiet Life. By Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett, author of “Then.” 
Miss Crespigny. A Charming Love Story. By author of “ Kathleen.” 
Theo. A Love Story. By author of “ Kathleen,” “ Miss Crespigny,” etc. 
Pretty Polly Pemberton. By author of “ Kathleen,” “ Theo,” etc. 

Above are in paper cover, price 50 cents each, or in cloth, at $1.00 each. 

Jarl’s Daughter and Other Tales. By Mrs. Burnett. Price 25 cents. 
Lindsay’s Luck. By Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett. Price 25 cents. 

MRS. SOUTHWORTH’S LOVE STORIES. 

Sybil Brotherton. A Novel. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth. 

The Red Hill Tragedy. By Mrs. Emma 1). E. N. Southworth. 

Above are in paper cover, price 50 cents each, or in cloth, at $1.00 each. 


ggp. Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. (A) 


T. B. PETERSON and BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 

Orders solicited from Booksellers, Librarians, News Agents, 
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MRS. EMMA D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH’S WORKS. 


CompleU in forty-three large duodecimo v> 
price $ 1.75 each; or $ 75.25 a set, 

The Phantom Wedding; or, The Fall 
Self-Raised; From the Depths..$l 75 
Ishraael; or, In the Depths,.... 1 75 


The Mother-in-Law, 1 75 

The Fatal Secret, 1 75 

How He Won Her, 1 75 

Fair Play, 1 75 

The Spectre Lover, 1 75 

Victor’s Triumph, L 75 

A Beautiful Fiend, 1 75 

The Artist’s Love, 1 75 

A Noble Lord, 1 75 

Lost Heir of Linlithgow, 1 75 

Tried for her Life, 1 75 

Cruel as the Grave, 1 75 

The Maiden Widow, 1 75 

The Family Doom, 1 75 

The Bride's Fate, 1 75 

The Changed Brides, 1 75 

Fallen Pride, 1 75 

The Widow’s Son, 1 75 

The Bride of Llewellyn, 1 75 


The Missing Bride; or, Miriam, the 
Above are each in cloth, or each o 


ilumes, hound in morocco cloth , gilt back, 
each set is put up in a neat box. 

of the House of Flint, $1 75 

The Fatal Marriage, 1 75 

The Deserted Wife, 1 75 

The Fortuue Seeker, 1 75 

The Bridal Eve, 1 75 

The Lost Heiress, 1 75 

The Two Sisters,... 1 75 

Lady of the Isle, 1 75 

Prince of Darkness,. 1 75 

The Three Beauties, 1 75 

Vivia; or the Secret of Power, 1 75 

Love’s Labor Won, 1 75 

The Gipsy’s Prophecy, 1 75 

Retribution 1 75 

The Christmas Guest, 1 75 

Haunted Homestead, 1 75 

Wife’s Victory, 1 75 

Allworth Abbey, 1 75 

India; Pearl of Pearl River,.. 1 75 

Curse of Clifton, 1 75 

Discarded Daughter, 1 75 

The Mystery of Dark Hollow,.. 1 75 
Avenger, 1 75 


is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 


MRS. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ’S WORKS. 

Oreen and Gold Edition. Complete in twelve volumes, in green morocco 
price $ 1.75 mch ; or $ 21.00 a set , each set is put up in a neat box. 


cloth , 


Ernest Linwood, $1 75 

The Planter’s Northern Bride,.. 1 75 

Courtship and Marriage, 1 75 

Rena; or, the Snow Bird, 1 75 

Marcus Warland, I 75 


Love after Marriage, $1 75 

Eoline; or Magnolia Vale, 1 75 

The Lost Daughter, 1 75 

The Banished Son, 1 75 

Helen and Arthur, 1 75 


Linda; or, the Young Pilot of the Belle Creole, 1 70 

Robert Graham; the Sequel to “Linda; or Pilot of Belle Creole,”... 1 75 
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MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS’ WORKS. 

impUte in twenty-three large duodecimo volumes, hound in morocco cloth, gilt hack, 
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Norston’s Best, $1 75 

Bertha’s Engagement, 1 75 

Bellehood and Bondage, 1 75 

The Old Countess, 1 75 

Lord Hope’s Choice, 1 75 

The Reigning Belle, 1 75 

Palaces and Prisons, 1 75 

Married in Haste, 1 75 

Wives and Widows, 1 75 

Ruby Gray’s Strategy 1 75 

Doubly False,.... 1 75 | The Heiress 


The Soldiers’ Orphans, $1 7$ 

A Noble Woman, 1 7* 

Silent Struggles, 1 76 

The Rejected Wife, 1 75 

The Wife’s Secret, 1 75 

Mary Derwent, 1 75 

Fashion and Famine, 1 75 

The Curse of Gold, 1 75 

Mabel’s Mistake, 1 75 

The Old Homestead, 1 75 

1 75 | The Gold Brick,... 1 75 


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Complete in nine large duodecimo volumes, hound in morocco cloth, gilt back, pries 
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Miriam’s Memoirs, $1 75 

Monfort Hall, 1 75 

Sea and Shore 1 75 

Hester Howard’s Temptation,.. 1 


To 


The Cardinal’s Daughter, $1 75 

Feme Fleming, 1 75 

The Household of Bouverie,.... 1 75 

A Double Wedding, 1 75 

Lady Ernestine j or, The Absent Lord of Rocheforte, * 1 75 

BEST COOK BOOKS PUBLISHED. 

Every housekeeper should possess at least one of the .following Cook Books , as they 
would save the price of it in a week's cooking. 

The Queen of the Kitchen. Containing 1007 Old Maryland 

Family Receipts for Cooking, Cloth, $1 75 

Miss Leslie’s New Cookery Book, Cloth, 1 75 

Mrs. Hale's New Cook Book, Cloth, 1 75 

Petersons’ New Cook Book, Cloth, 1 75 

Widdifield’s New Cook Book, Cloth, 1 75 

Mrs. Goodfellow’s Cookery as it Should Be, Cloth, 1 75 

The National Cook Book. By a Practical Housewife, Cloth, 1 75 

The Young Wife’s Cook Book Cloth, 1 75 

Miss Leslie’s New Receipts for Cooking, Cloth, 1 75 

Mrs. Hale’s Receipts for the Million, Cloth, 1 75 

The Family Save- All. By author of “ National Cook Book,” Cloth, .1 75 
Fruncatelli’s Modern Cook. With the most approved methods of 
French, English, German, and Italian Cookery. With Sixty-two 
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Why Did He Marry Her? $1 75 

Who Shall be Victor? 1 75 


A New Way to Win a Fortune $1 75 

The Discarded Wife, L 75 

The Clandestine Marriage, 1 75 

The Hidden Sin, 1 75 

The Dethroned Heiress, 1 75 

The Gipsy’s Warning, 1 75 

All For Love, 1 75 


The Mysterious Guest, 1 75 

Was He Guilty? 1 75 

The Cancelled Will, 1 75 

The Planter’s Daughter, 1 75 

Michael Rudolph, 1 75 


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JAMES A. MAITLAND’S WORKS. 

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Sartaroe, 1 

Tho Three Cousins, 1 


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The Sealed Packet, $1 75 Dream Numbers, $1 75 

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Leonora Casaloni,... 1 75 | Gemtun 1 75 | Marietta, 1 75 

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Father and Daughter, $1 75 I The Neighbors, $1 75 

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The Dead Secret, 8vo 75 

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Hide and Seek, 75 

After Dark, 75 


The Queen’s Revenge, 7i 

Miss or Mrs? 50 

Mad Monkton, 50 

Sights a-Foot, 50 


The Stolen Mask, 25 | The Yellow Mask,... 25 | Sister Rose,..* 25 

The above books are each issued in paper cover, in octavo form. 

FRANK FORRESTER’S SPORTING BOOK. 

Frank Forrester’s Sporting Scenes and Characters. By Henry Wil- 
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EMERSON BENNETT’S WORKS. 

Complete in seven large duodecimo volumes , bound in cloth , gilt back , price $1.75 
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Ellen Norburv, I 75 

Kate Clarendon, 1 75 


Viola; or Adventures in the Far South-West, 1 75 

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The Heiress of Bellefonte, 75 | The Pioneer’s Daughter, 75 

GREEN’S WORKS ON GAMBLING. 

Complete in four large, duodecimo volumes , bound in cloth , gilt back , price $1.75 
each ,* or $7.00 a set , each set is put up in a neat box. 

Gambling Exposed, $1 75 i Reformed Gambler, $1 75 

The Gambler’s Life, 1 75 | Secret Band of Brothers, 1 75 

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each ; or $0.00 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 

Dow’s Patent Sermons, 3d 


Dow’s Patent Sermons, 1st 

Series, cloth, $1 50 

Dow’s Patent Sermons, 2d 
Series, cloth 1 50 


Series, cloth, $1 51 

Dow’s Patent Sermons, 4th 
Series, cloth, 1 51 


Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.00 each. 


HISS 


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Aurora Floyd, cloth. 


BRADDON’S WORKS. 

The Lawyer’s Secret, 25 

For Better, For Worse, 75 


7o 

00 


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Charles O’Malley, 


Arthur O’Leary,.. 

Harry Lorrequer, 


Con Cregan, 

Jack Hinton, 


Davenport Dunn, 

Tom Burke of Ours, 


Horace Templeton, 

Knight of G wynne, 


Kate O’Donoghue, 


Above are in paper cover, or a fine edition is in cloth at $2.00 each. 

A Kent in a Cloud, 50 | St. Patrick’s Eve, 50 

Ten Thousand a Year, in one volume, paper cover, $1.50; or in cloth, 2 00 
The Diary of a Medical Student, by author “ Ten Thousand a Year,” 


MRS. HENRY WOOD’S BEST BOOKS. 


The Master of Greylands, $1 50 

Within the Maze, 1 50 

Dene Hollow, 1 50 

Bessy Bane, 1 50 

George Canterbury’s Will, 1 50 

Verner’s Pride, 1 50 

The Channings, 1 50 

Roland Yorke. A Sequel to “ The Channings,” 

Lord Oakburn’s Daughters ; or. The Earl’s Heirs, 

The Castle's Heir ; or, Lady Adelaide’s Oath, 

The above are each in paper cover, or in cloth, price $1.75 each, 
Edina; or, Missing Since Midnight, cloth, $1, paper cover, 


The Shadow of Ashlydyat,. 

Squire Trevlyn’s Heir, 

Oswald Cray, 

Mildred Arkell, 

The Red Court Farm, 

Elster’s Folly, 

Saint Martin’s Eve, 


The Mystery, 75 

Parkwater. Told in Twilight, 75 

The Lost Bank Note, 50 

The Lost Will, 50 

Orville College, 50 

Five Thousand a Year, 25 

The Diamond Bracelet, 25 

Clara Lake’s Dream, 25 

The Nobleman’s Wife, 25 

Frances Hildyard, 25 

Cyrilla Maude’s First Love,... 25 

My Cousin Caroline’s Wedding 25 


A Life’s Secret,, 

The Haunted Tower 

The Runaway Match, 

Marty n Ware’s Temptation, 

The Dean of Denham, 

Foggy Night at Offord, 

William Allair, 

A Light and a Dark Christmas, 

The Smuggler’s Ghost 

Rupert Hall, 

My Husband’s First Love, 

Marrying Beneath Your Station 


EUGENE SUE’S GREAT WORKS. 


The Wandering Jew, $1 50 

The Mysteries of Paris, 1 50 

Martin, the Foundling, 1 50 

Above are in cloth at $2.00 each. 

Life and Adventures of Raoul de Surville. A Tale of the Empire,.. 


First Love, 

Woman’s Love, 

Female Bluebeard,. 
Man-of-War’s-Man,. 


75 


51 

50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

75 

50 

50 

25 

25 

25 

25 

25 

25 

25 

25 

25 

25 


50 

50 

50 

50 

25 


®ir Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Prioei 
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BOOKS BY AUTHOR OF “A HEART TWICE WON.” 

A Heart Twice Won; or, Second Love. A Love Story. By Mrs. Eliza- 
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Under the Willows; or, The Three Countesses. By Mrs. Elizabeth Van 
Loon, author of “A Heart Twice Won.” One large duodecimo volume, 
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The Shadow of Hampton Mead. A Charming Story. By Mrs. Elizabeth 
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NEW AND GOOD BOOKS BY BEST AUTHORS. 

The Count de Camors. The Man of the Second Empire. By Octav 
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Major Jones’s Courtship. Author’s New, Rewritten, and Enlarged Edi- 
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WORKS BY TflE VERY BEST AUTH0R3. 

The following boohs are each issued in one large duodecimo volume, 


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The Initials. A Love Story. By Baroness Tautphoeus, $1 75 

Married Beneath Him. By author of “ Lost Sir Massingberd,” 1 75 

Margaret Maitland. By Mrs. Oliphant, author of “Zaidee,” 1 75 

Family Pride. By author of “ Pique,” “ Family Secrets,” etc 1 75 

Self-Sacrifice. By author of “ Margaret Maitland,” etc 1 75 

The Woman in Black. A Companion to the “Woman in White,”... 1 75 
Rose Douglas. A Companion to “ Family Pride,” and “ Self Sacrifice,” 1 75 
Family Secrets. A Companion to “Family Pride,” and “Pique,”... 1 75 

Popery Exposed. An Exposition of Popery as it was and is, 1 75 

The Autobiography of Edward Wortley Montagu, 1 75 

The Forsaken Daughter. A Companion to “Linda,” 1 75 

Love and Liberty. A Revolutionary Story. By Alexander Dumas, 1 75 

The Morrisons. By Mrs. Margaret Ilosmer, 1 75 

The Rich Husband. By author of “ George Geith,” 1 75 

Woodburn Grange. A Novel. By William Howitt, 1 75 

The Lost Beauty. B.v a Noted Lady of the Spanish Court, 1 75 

My Hero. By Mrs. Forrester. A Charming Love Story, 1 75 


The Quaker Soldier. A Revolutionary Romance. By Judge Jones,.... 1 75 
Memoirs of Vidocq, the French Detective. His Life and Adventures, 1 75 
The Belle of Washington. With her Portrait. By Mrs. N. P. Lasselle, 1 75 
High Life in Washington. A Life Picture. By Mrs. N. P. Lasselle, 1 75 
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Henry Greville's New Works. 


Donrnof. A Russian Story. By Henry Greville, author of “Saveli’s Expiation,” 
“Dosia,” “Marrying Off a Daughter,” etc. Translated by Miss Marie Stewart. 

“Dournof” was written in Russia during Madame Greville's residence in St. Peters- 
burg, and is a charming and graphic story of Russian life, containing careful studies of 
Russian character, and character drawing, which are most admirable. 

Boil 1 it e-Marie. A Tale of Normandy and Paris. By Henry Griville, author of 
“Dosia,” “Saveli’s Expiation,” “Sonia,” etc. Translated by Mary Meal Sherwood. 

“ Bonne-Marie” is a charming story, the scenes of which are laid in Normandy and 
in Paris. It will no doubt create a sensation, such is its freshness, beauty, and delicacy. 

Sonia. A Russian Story. By Henry Greville , author of “Saveli’s Expiation,” 
“ Marrying OB’ a Daughter,” “ Gabrielle,” etc. Translated by Mary Meal Sherwood. 

“Sonia” is charming and refined, and is a powerful, graceful, domestic story, being 
most beautifully told — giving one a very distinct idea of every-day home life in Russia. 

Saveli's Expiation. By Henry Greville. A dramatic and powerful novel, and 
a pure love story. 'Translated from the French, by Mai y Meal Sherwood. 

“ Sav£i.i’s Expiation ” is one of the most dramatic and most powerful novels ever pub- 
lished, while a pathetic love story, runuing all through its pages, is presented for relief. 

Gabrielle; or. The House of Maureze. Translated from the TYenchof 
Henry Grivitle, who is the most popular writer in Europe at the present time. 

“Gabrielle; or, The House of Maureze,” is a very thrilling and touching story, 
most skilfully told, and follows the life of the girl whose title it bears. 

A Friend ; or, I.' Ami. 4 Story of Every-Day Life. By Henry Grtville , author 
of “ Sonia,” and “ Saveli’s Expiation.” Translated in Baris by Miss Helen Stanley. 

This tender and touching picture of French home-life will touch many hearts, as it show s 
how the love of a true and good woman will meet with its reward and triumph at last. 

Above are 50 Ceuts each in paper cover, or $1.00 in cloth, black and gold. 


Dosia. A Russian Story. By Henry Greville, author of “Bonne-Marie,” ‘ Saveli’s 
Expiation,” “Philomene’s Marriages,” “Marrying OlYa Daughter,” “Sonia,” etc. 
“Dosia” has been crowned by the French Academy as the Prize Novel of the year. 
It is a charming story of Russian society, is written with a rare grace of style, is brilliant, 
pleasing and attractive. “ Dosia ” is an exquisite creation, and is pure and fresh as a rose. 

Bretty I. it tie Countess Zina. By Henry Grlville , author of “Dosia,” 
“Saveli’s Expiation,” “A Friend,” etc. Translated by Mary Meal Sherwood. 

Zina, the Countess, bears a certain resemblance to Dosia — that bew itching creature — in 
her dainty wilfulness, while the ward and cousin, Vassal issa, is an entire new creation. 

l*lii loin e lie's Marriages. From the French of “Les Mari ages de JViilomene .” 
By Henry Greville, author of “ Dosia,” “ Saveli’s Expiation,” “Gabrielle,” etc. 

The American edition of “ Philom fine’s Marriages,” contains a Preface written by 
Henry Greville, addressed to her American Readers, which is not in the French edition. 
Translated in Baris, from Henry Greville's manuscript, by Miss Helen Stanley. 

Marrying Off a Daughter. By Henry Greville, author of “ Dosia,” “SavMi’s 
Expiation,” “ Gabrielle,” “ A Friend,” etc. Translated by Mary Meal Sherwood. 

“Marrying Off a Daughter ” Is gay, sparkling, and pervaded by a delicious tone of 
quiet humor, and will be read and enjoyed by thousands of readers. 

Four last are 75 Cents each in paper cover, or $1.25 in cloth, black and gold. 


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PETERSONS’ “DOLLAR SERIES” 

OF GOOD NOVELS, ABE THE BEST, LARGEST, 
AND CHEAPEST BOOKS IN THE WORLD. 

Trice One Dollar Each , in Cloth , Black and Gold* 
A WOMAN’S THOUGHTS ABOUT WOMEN. By Miss Mulock. 
THE LOVER’S TRIALS. By Mrs. Mary A. Denison. 

THE PRIDE OF LIEE. A Love Story. By Lady Jane Scott. 

THE BEAUTIFUL WIDOW. By Mrs. Percy B. Shelley. 

CORA BELMONT;, or, The Sincere Lover. 

TWO WAYS TO MATRIMONY ; or, Is It Love, or, False Pride? 
LOST SIR MASSINGBERD, Janies Pay n’s Best Book. 

THE CLYFFARDS OF CLYFFE. Ey James Payn. 

MY SON’S WIFE. By the Anthor of "Caste.” 

THE RIVAL BELLES; or, Life in Washington. By J. B. Jones. 
THE REFUGEE. By the author of "Omoo,” "Typee,” etc. 

OUT OF TEE DEPTHS. The Story of a Woman’s Life. 

THE MATCHMAKER. A Society Novel. By Beatrice Reynolds. 
AUNT PATTY’S SCRAP BAG. By Mrs. Caroline Lee Hentz. 
THE STORY OF “ELIZABETH.” By Miss Thackeray. 
FLIRTATIONS IN FASHIONABLE LIFE. By Catharine Sinclair 
THE HEIRESS IN THE FAMILY. By Mrs. Mackenzie Daniels. 
LOVE AND DUTY. A Love Story. By Mrs. Hubback. 

THE COQUETTE; or, The Life and Letters of Eliza Wharton. 
SELF-LOVE. A Book for Young Ladies and for Women. 

THE DEVOTED BRIDE. By St. George Tucker, of Virginia. 

THE MAN OF THE WORLD. By William North. 

THE RECTOR’S WIFE; or, The Valley of a Hundred Fires. 

THE QUEEN’S FAVORITE; or, The Price of a Crown. 

COUNTRY QUARTERS. By the Countess of Blessington. 

THE CAVALIER. A Novel. By G. P. R. James. 

SARATOGA! AND THE FAMOUS SPRINGS. A Love Story. 
COLLEY CIBBER’S LIFE OF EDWIN FORREST, with Portrait. 
WOMAN’S WRONG. A Book for Women. By Mrs. Eiloart. 
HAREM LIFE IN EGYPT AND CONSTANTINOPLE. 

THE OLD PATROON ; or, The Great Van Broek Property. 

THE MAODERMOTS OF BALLYOLORAN. By Anthony Trollope. 
A LONELY LIFE. TREASON AT HOME. PANOLA! 

pZT'For sale by all Booksellers and News Agents , and published by 

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NEW AND BEAUTIFUL EDITIONS, JUST READY. 

Each Work in this Series is Unabridged and Complete. 

FANCHON ; THE CRICKET; or, “LA PETITE FADETTE.” By George 
Sand. The Play of “Fanchon, the Cricket,” as acted on the stage, was 
dramatized from this book . Translated from the French. One volume, duo- 
decimo. Fine edition, in vellum, gilt and black, price $1.50; or a cheaper 
edition, in square 12mo. form, uniform with “Kathleen,” “Theo,” etc., in 
paper cover, price Fifty Cents. 

CONSTJELO. A Novel. By George Sand. Translated from the French, by 
Fayette Robinson. One volume, duodecimo, cloth, gilt. Price $1.50. A cheaper 
edition is also published in one large octavo volume, paper cover, price 75 cents. 

TIIE COUNTESS OF RUDOLSTADT. A Sequel to “ Consuelo.” By George 
Sand. Translated from the French, by Fayette Robinson. One volume, 
duodecimo, cloth, gilt. Price $1.50. A cheaper edition is also published in 
one large octavo volume, paper cover, price 75 cents. 

INDIANA. A Love Story. By George Sand. With a Life of Madame Dudevant, 
(George Sand,) and translated from the French, by George W. Richards. One 
volume, duodecimo, cloth, gilt. Price $1.50. 

JEALOUSY ; or, TEVERINO. Bv George Sand. With a Biography of the 
Distinguished Authoress, and translated from the French, by Oliver S. Leland. 
One volume, duodecimo, cloth, gilt. Price $1.50. 

FIRST AND TRUE LOVE. By George Sand. Translated from the French. 
With Eleven Illustrative Engravings, including Portraits of “ Monsieur An- 
toine,” “ Gilbert.e de Chateaubrun,” “ Mademoiselle Janille,” “ Emile Cardon- 
net,” “Jean Jappeloup, the Carpenter,” and “Monsieur and Madame Cardon- 
net.” One volume, octavo. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.00 in cloth. 

SIMON. A Love Story. By George Sand. Translated from the French. Onp 
volume, octavo, paper cover. Price 50 cents. 

THE LAST ALDTNI. A Love Story. By George Sand. Translated from the 
French. One volume, octavo, paper cover. Price 50 cents. 

TIIE CORSAIR. A Venetian Tale. By George Sand. Translated from the 
French* One volume, octavo, paper cover. Price 50 cents. 


EHr Above Books are for sale by all Booksellers and News Agents , or copies will be 
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T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 

30G Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa# 


67 


MRS. BURNETT'S CHARMING STORIES. 

FOR SALE BY ALL BOOKSELLERS, AND PUBLISHED BY 

T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia. 

PEIKG REPRINTED FROM “ PETERSON’S MAGAZINE,” FOR WHICH! 
THEY WERE ALL ©RIGINAEEY WRITTEN. 


The following Charming Stories were all written by Mrs. Frances 
Hodgson Burnett, and each one is printed on tinted paper, the whole being 
issued in uniform shape and style , in square Ylmo. form, being seven of 
the best, most interesting, and choicest love stories ever written. 


* THEO.” A Love Story. By Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett , 
author of “ Kathleen,” “Pretty Polly Pemberton,” “Miss 
Crespigny,” “A Quiet Life,” and u Lindsay’s Luck.” 

Kathleen. A Love Story. By Mrs. Frances Hodgson Bur- 
nett , author of “ Theo,” “Miss Crespigny,” “Jarl’s Daughter,” 
“A Quiet Life,” and “ Pretty Polly Pemberton.” 

A. QUIET LIFE; and THE TIDE ON THE MOANING 
BAR. By Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett , author of “Theo.” 

MISS CRESPIGNY. A Powerful Love Story. By Mrs. Frances 
Hodgson Burnett , author of “ Theo,” “ Kathleen,” etc. 

PRETTY POLLY PEMBERTON. A Charming Love Story. 

By Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett , author of “ Kathleen.” 

Above are 50 Cents each in paper cover, or $1.00 each in cloth, black and gold. 

JARL’S DAUGHTER; and OTHER STORIES. By Mrs. 

Frances Hodgson Burnett , author of “ Theo,” “ Kathleen,” etc. 

LINDSAY’S LUCK. A Love Story. By Mrs. Frances Hodgson 
Burnett , author of “ Theo,” “ Kathleen,” “A Quiet Life,” etc. 

Above are each in one volume, paper cover, price 25 Cents each. 

A bove Boohs are for sale by all Booksellers and News Agents , or 
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mail, post-paid, on remitting price to the Publishers, 

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I 


Humorous American 



Full of Illustrations by Farley, and each Book in Illuminated Covers. 


The Books on this page are the Funniest Books in the world, and are 
for sale by all Booksellers, and by the Publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS , PHILADELPHIA. 


THE FOLLOWING BOOKS ABE SEVENTY-FIVE CENTS EACH. 

MAJOR JONES’S COURTSHIP. With Illustrations by Darley. 

MAJOR JONES’S SKETCHES OF TRAVEL. Full of Illustrations. 

MAJOR JONES’S CHRONICLES OF PINEVILLE. Illustrated. 

THE ADVENTURES OF CAPTAIN SIMON SUGGS. Illustrated. 

POLLY PEABLOSSOM’S WEDDING. With Illustrations. 

WIDOW RUGBY’S HUSBAND. Full of Illustrations. 

THE BIG BEAR OF ARKANSAS. Illustrated by Darley. 

WESTERN SCENES; or, LIFE ON THE PRAIRIE. Illustrated. 

STREAKS OF SQUATTER LIFE AND FAR WESTERN SCENES. Illustrated 
PICKINGS FROM THE NEW ORLEANS PICAYUNE. Illustrated. 

STRAY SUBJECTS ARRESTED AND BOUND OVER. Illustrated. 

THE LOUISIANA SWAM? DOCTOR. Full of Illustrations. 

CHARCOAL SKETCHES. By Joseph C. Neal. Illustrated. 

PETER FABER’S MISFORTUNES. By Joseph C. Neal. Illustrated. 

PETER PLODDY AND OTHER ODDITIES. By Joseph C. Neal. 

YANKEE AMONG THE MERMAIDS. By William E. Burton. 

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ALEXANDER DUMAS’ GREAT WORKS. 

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The Count of Monte-Cristo. With elegant illustrations, and portraits of Edmond Dante^ 
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Mrs. Southworth’s Works. 

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1SHMAEL; op, IN THE DEPTHS. (Being “Self-Made; or, Out of Depths.”) 
SELF-RAISED; or, From the Depths. The Sequel to “Ishmael.” 

THE PHANTOM WEDDING ; or, the Fall of the House of Flint. 

THE “MOTHER-IN-LAW;” or, MARRIED IN HASTE. 

THE MISSING BRIDE; or, MIRIAM, THE AVENGER. 

VICTOR’S TRIUMPH. The Sequel to “A Beautiful Fiend.” 

A BEAUTIFUL FIEND; or, THROUGH THE FIRE. 

THE LADY OF THE ISLE; or, THE ISLAND PRINCESS. 

FAIR PLAY; or, BRITOMARTE, THE MAN-HATER. 

HOW HE WON HER. The Sequel to “Fair Play.” 

THE CHANGED BRIDES ; or, Winning Her Way. 

THE BRIDE’S FATE. The Sequel to “The Changed Brides.” 
CRUEL AS THE GRAVE; or, Hallow Eve Mystery. 

TRIED FOR HER LIFE. The Sequel to “ Cruel as the Grave.” 

THE CHRISTMAS GUEST; or, The Crime and the Curse. 

THE LOST HEIR OF LINLITHGOW; or, The Brothers. 

A NOBLE LORD. The Sequel to “The Lost Heir of Linlithgow.” 
THE FAMILY DOOM; or, THE SIN OF A COUNTESS. 

THE MAIDEN WIDOW. The Sequel to “The Family Doom.” 

THE GIPSY’S PROPHECY; or, The Bride of an Evening. 

THE FORTUNE SEEKER; or, Astrea, The Bridal Day. 

THE THREE BEAUTIES; or, SHANNONDALE. 

FALLEN PRIDE; or, THE MOUNTAIN GIRL’S LOVE. 

THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER; or, The Children of the Isle. 

THE PRINCE OF DARKNESS; or, HICKORY HALL. 

THE TWO SISTERS ; or, Virginia and Magdalene. 

THE FATAL MARRIAGE; or, ORVILLE DEVILLE. 

INDIA; or, THE PEARL OF PEARL RIVER. THE CURSE OF CLIFTON. 

THE WIDOW’S SON; or, LEFT ALONE. 

THE MYSTERY OF DARK HOLLOW. 

ALLWORTH ABBEY; or, EUDORA. 

THE BRIDAL EVE; or, ROSE ELMER. 

VIVIA ; or, THE SECRET OF POWER. 

THE HAUNTED HOMESTEAD. 


BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


THE WIFE’S VICTORY* 
THE SPECTRE LOVER. 

THE ARTIST’S LOVE. 
THE FATAL SECRET. 

LOVE’S LABOR WON. 
THE LOST HEIRESS. 

THE DESERTED WIFE. RETRIBUTION 


Mrs. Southworth’s works will be found for sale by all Booksellers. 

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Three New American Novels. 


A HEART TWICE WON 

OR, 

SECOND LOVE. 

BY MRS. ELIZABETH VAN LOON. 

Author of “Under the Willows; or, The Three Countesses,” 
“The Shadow of Hampton Mead,” etc. 

Bound in Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black. Price $1.50. 


UNDER THE WILLOWS 

OR, 

THE THREE COUNTESSES. 

BY MRS. ELIZABETH VAN LOON. 

Author of “A Heart Twice Won.” 

Bound in Morocoo Cloth, Gilt and Black. Price $1.50. 


The Shadow op Hampton Mead. 

A STORY OF THREE FAMILIES. 

BY MRS. ELIZABETH VAN LOON. 

Author of “A Heart Twice Won.” 

Bound in Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black. Price $1.50. 


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Emile Zola’s Great Works! 


THE ABBE’S TEMPTATIO 

(LA FAUTE DE L’ABBE MOURET.) 

•-A- LOVE STOEY. 



AUTHOR OP “ L’ASSOMMOIR,” “HELENE,” ETC., ETC. 


TRANSLATED EROM THE EBENGH BY JOHN STIRLING. 



* The Abba’s Temptation/ ” by Emile Zola, writes one of the most noted literarl 
editors in New York, to John Stirling, the translator, “is the sweetest love story 1 
ever read, and is a great book, for there is much in the work that is lovely and pathetic. 
It is a work of marvellous ability, not immoral in any sense, while it teaches a lesson. 
The Abbe Mouret, brother of Hel&ne, who serves to point the moral in Zola’s previous 
work, entitled, ‘ Helene, a Love Episode/ is the Cur6 of a poor village whose inhabitants 
are steeped in all the degradation of peasant life. In the Abbe is developed the devo- 
tional spirit of his mother. Innocent of all guile, uncomfortable and blushing at the 
confessions of his female parishioners ; devoted to the worship of the Virgiu Mary, he, 
with his half-witted sister, lives a life of purity and happiness, until his mind is 
unbalanced by the suggestions of a zealot, and by the constant strain on both mind 
and body, caused by his incessant vigils. To save his life, his uncle, Dr. Pascal, takes 
him to a deserted villa, and confides him to the care of a half-wild niece of the man 
id charge. Gradually his reason is restored ; and with returning reason comes health, 
sfrength and love. His fault no one can condemn but himself. In his own hard, 
unflinching style, Zola dissects the vices of the peasantry, the salacious nature of the 
zealot, and the animal instincts of his sister ; but when he depicts the innocent love 
and purity of the unhappy Abbe, as he wanders through the tangled paths of Faradou, 
l nature seems altogether changed, and one can scarce believe that he, who wrote 
‘ L’Assommoir/ can be the author of this sweet, pathetic, and charming love story.” 

Paper Cover, 75 Cents. Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black, $1.25. 


EMILE ZOLA’S OTHER WORKS. 

L’ASSOMMOIR. By Emile Zola, author of “ The Abba’s Temptation,” “ HelSne ” 
etc. Price 75 cents in paper, or $1.00 in cloth. 

HELENE; or, TJNE PAGE D’ AMOUR. By Emile Zola, author of “ L’Assommoir,” 
“ The Abbe’s Temptation,” etc. Price 75 cents in paper, or $1.25 in cloth. 

Above Books are for sale by all Booksellers and News Agents, or copies will 6 -' 
sent to any place, at once, per mail, post-paid, on remitting price to the Publishers, 

71 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Pa. 



WITH EIGHT FULL PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS. 

BY MAJOR JOSEPH JONES. 


(OF F1NEVILLE, GEORGIA.) 



“Raney palled his chair a little closer, and caught hold of the thread, while she went on knittin." 


ONE VOLUME, SQUARE 12mo., PAPER COVER. PRICE 50 CEN1S. 

Egg* Raney Cottem’s Courtship is for sale by all Booksellers and News Agents, or copies 
of it will be sent at once, post-paid, on remitting Fifty cents in a letter to the publishers , 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Pa, 


By author of “ L’Assommoir.” 


r >. 



A LOVE EPISODE. 


(UNE PAGE D’AMOUR.) 

13 "ST EMILE ZOLA. 

AUTHOR OF "L'ASSOMMOIR," “THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY," OR, 
"LA FORTUNE DES ROUGON," “THE ABBE’S TEMPTATION/' OR, 

"LA FAUTE DE L’ABBE MOURET," ETC. 


“Emile Zola” is the greatest author in France at the present day. His novel, 
“ L’ASSOMMOIR,” published by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, has already 
had a sale in France of over One Hundred Thousand Copies, and “ IIelEne; or ? Une 
Page D’Amour,” which is extremely interesting — indeed, exciting — lately issued 
there, has already passed into its forty-eighth edition. One of the most noted liter- 
ary editors in New York wrote as follows to the translator: “I have just finished 
reading, and return to you by mail, your advance copy of * Zola’s’ extraordinary 
book, ‘HelEne; or, Une Page D’Amour.’ It is admirably written, and is full of 
powerful and life-like delineations of character, and in this respect surpasses any of 
his preceding publications, and you, with your skill, will have no difficulty in ren- 
dering it into pure English. By all means translate it at once, and your publishers 
will have the honor of introducing the cleverest book as well as the greatest writer 
of the day to the American public.” And in a letter received bv the translator from 
one of the most celebrated critics in Paris, he says: “Why do you not translate 
‘Zola’s’ new book, ‘Helene; or, Une Page D’Amour’ at once? It is the great 
sensation over here. The book is admirably written by a truly great artist, with a 
powerful realism and absorbing interest, and would be a splendid card for you to play, 
and would prove to be a great success in America. The characters and scenes of the 
story are well conceived and well executed, and it is impossible to deny the author’s 
great skill, for every reader will acknowledge ‘Zola’s’ great power in ‘HelEne.’ 
Besides the story, there are many pages devoted to rapturous descriptions of Paris at 
sunrise, at noonday, at sunset, and at night. Zola has made his name famous, and he 
will find plenty of readers for all he writes. His name alone will make any book sell.” 


Paper Cover, 75 Cents. Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black, $1.25. 


m-The. above book is printed on tinted paper , and is issued in square 12 mo. form , 
in uniform shape with il L' Assommoir," “ The Rougon-Macquart Family ; or, La For- 
tune Des Rougon,” “ The Abbe's Temptation ; or, La Faute Re L' Abbe Mouret ,” and 
other works of Emile Zola's published by us, and is for sale by all Booksellers, or copies 
will be sent to any one, at once, post-paid, on remitting price to the Publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 

306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa. 


By Author of “Raney Cottem’s Courtship,” (< Chronicles of Pineville,” 
“Major Jones’s Sketches of Travel,” etc. 



Major Jones’s Courtship. 

WITH 21 FULL PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS. 

BY MAJOR JOSEPH JONES. 

(OF PINEVILLE, GEORGIA.) 


“By this time the galls was holt of my coat-tail, hollerin as hard as they could.’* 

ONE VOLUME, SQUARE 12mo., PAPER COVER. PRICE 75 CENTS. 


Major Jones 1 s Courtship is for sale by all Booksellers and News Agents, or copies of 
it will be sent at once, post-paid, on remitting Seventy-five cents in a letter to the publishers, 

T. B. PETEKSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Pa. 


By Author of “Raney CottenJs Courtship,” {< Chronicles of Pineville,” 
“Major Jones’s Sketches of Travel,” etc. 


Emile Zola’s Greatest Work! 

OVER 100,000 COPIES SO!, I) IS ERASCE. 



-A- NOVEL. 

BY EMILE Za S-A. 

AUTHOR OF “ THE ABBE’S TEMPTATION,” “ HELENE,” ETC. 

TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH BY JOHN STIRLING. 


Read ii'hat Hr. O. D. Cox, the TAterary Editor of The Philadelphia, Chronicle - 
Herald , says of “IS Assommoir,” Editorially , in that Paper . 

“L’Assommoih,” a Novel, by Emile Zola, translated from the French by John Stir- 
ling, is published this day by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, and is one of 
the most wonderful novels ever printed, and for intensity of realism, has no equal, 
having already attained a sale in France of over One Hundred Thousand Copies. 
“ The publication in English of this, the greatest novel of the greatest French realistic 
novelist, is, in all senses, an experiment. The ‘Assommoir’ probes to the uttermost 
depths the springs of degradation and depravity among the lower orders of the Parisian 
population, and the picture presented has not a single touch of varnish. There it is in 
all its hideous and sickening reality, even the coarse local slang is reproduced in such 
boldness as to make the reader start, and Zola stops at nothing. He takes his subject 
as he finds it, and reproduces it with the most scrupulous fidelity. Such a novel as 
the ‘Assommoir,’ and such a novelist as ‘ Zola/ are new to the American public, 
and Mr. Stirling, at the instance of his publishers, has undertaken the herculean task 
of purifying the ‘Assommoir,’ that our readers may get the gist of the great book 
and yet not be shocked. It is but just to say that he has done his work with much 
skill and judgment. Mr. Stirling gives the story, its animus and its vivid local color- 
ing, but he does so in a refined way, and, strange to say, he has not weakened the 
‘Assommoir ’ in the least by so doing. He shows Gervaise, her struggles to be an 
honest woman, her troubles, and her final fall into the slough of sin, ending in a 
pauper’s death. He shows Coupeau, at first a good citizen and an estimable man, then 

E assing through all the stages of drunkenness to his end by delirium tremens in the 
ospital. The smooth-tongued Lantier, Nana, who took naturally to sin, and Goujet, 
the manly and virtuous blacksmith, are all there. We would advise all who cannot 
read the ‘Assommoir’ in the original French to read Mr. Stirling’s version of it. 
They will find the book a curiosity, to say the least of it.” 

Paper Cover, 75 Cents. Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black, $1.00. 


Above Books are for sale by all Booksellers and News Agents, or copies will bt 
to any place, at once, per mail, post-paid, on remitting price to the Publishers, 

T. B. PETEKSON & BKOTHEItS, Philadelphia, Pa. 



By Author of “Major Jones’s Courtship.” 



“ Says she to Major Jones, I’m a poor woman, my husban's sick, won’t you hold this bundle for me till T go 
in the drug-store for some medicin’. I did so. got tired of waiting, and walked down to the lamp-post to see 
what it was. ‘ It was a live baby,’ and the sweat poured out of me, I tell you, in a stream.” — l'uge 114. 


ONE VOLUME, SQUARE 12mo., PAPER COVER. PRICE 75 CENTS. 

1$%^ Major Jones’s Travels is for sale by all Booksellers and News Agents, or copies of 
it will be sent at once, post-paid, on remitting Seventy-jive cents in a letter to the publishers , 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Pa. 




Greville’s New Russian Novel. 




THE RUSSIAN VIOLINIST. 

BIT HENRY 6RET1LLE. 

/AUTHOR OF “DOSIA,” “MARRYING OFF A DAUGHTER,” “SAVELI’S EXPIATION,” 
“BONNE-MARIE,” “PHILOMENE’S MARRIAGES,” “SONIA,” “A FRIEND,” 

“ DOURNOF,” “ GABRIELLE,” “ PRETTY LITTLE COUNTESS ZINA.” 

TRANSLATED IN PARIS, BY MISS HELEN STANLEY. 

Markof" is a musical novel, and an art study, full of beautiful prose and true poetry, and such 
as could be written only by an artist and a genius. The character -dr awing is marvellous in breadth 
and analyzation, and gives proof of rare artistic skill, while the most delicious fancies, expressed in 
graceful, poetical and vigorous language, render the author' s style incomparably charming. I know 
of no work, nor can I remember any one which has pleased me so much, both in its ideas and their 
expression, in its plots and development, in its brilliancy and real value, as “Markof." The 
English version retains the strong, clear style of the French with commendable fidelity. There are 
a few letters in the novel which are unique, and their style is admirably preserved in the transla- 
tion. — Boston Globe. 

One Large Volume, !2mo., Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black, Price $1.50. 

HENRY GREVILLE’S OTHER NOVELS. 

DOURNOF. A Russian Novel. By Henry Greville, author of “Saveli’s Expia- 
tion,” “ Dosia,” “ Sonia,” etc. Price 50 cents in paper, or $1.00 in cloth. 

BONNE-MARIE. A Tale of Normandy and Paris. By Henry Greville , author of 
“ Saveli’s Expiation ” and “ Dosia.” Price 50 cents in paper, or $1.00 in cloth. 

DOSIA. By Henry Greville , author of “Saveli’s Expiation,” “Marrying Off a 
Daughter,” “ Sonia,” and “ Gabrielle.” Price 75 cents in paper, or $1.25 in cloth. 

PHILOMENE’S MARRIAGES. By Henry Gr'eville , author of “ Dosia,” “Sav41i’s 
Expiation,” “ Sonia,” and “ Gabrielle.” Price 75 cents in paper, or $1.25 in cloth. 

PRETTY LITTLE COUNTESS ZINA. By Henry Greville, author of “Dosia,” 
“ Saveli’s Expiation,” and “ Gabrielle.” Price 75 cents in paper, or $1.25 in cloth. 

MARRYING OFF A DAUGHTER. By Henry Greville , author of “ Dosia,” “ Save- 
li’s Expiation,” “ Sonia,” and “ Gabrielle.” Price 75 cents in paper, or $1.25 in cloth. 

SAVELI’S EXPIATION. By Henry Gr'eville. A dramatic and powerful novel of 
Russian life, and a pure, pathetic love story. Price 50 cts. in paper, or $1.00 in cloth. 

SONIA. A Russian Storv. By Henry Gr'eville , author of “Saveli’s Expiation,” 
« Dosia,” and “ Marrying Off a Daughter.” Price 50 cents in paper, or $1.00 in cloth. 

A FRIEND ; or, L’AMI. By Henry Gr'eville , author of “ Sav61i’s Expiation,” 
“ Dosia,” and “ Marrying Off a Daughter.” Price 50 cents in paper, or $1.00 in cloth. 

GABRIELLE; or. THE HOUSE OF MAUREZE. By Henry Greville, author of 
“ Dosia,” “ A Friend,” “ Saveli’s Expiation.” Price 50 cts. in paper, or $1.00 in cloth. 


Booh are for sale by all Booksellers and News Agents, or copies will be 
sent to any place , at once , per mail, post-paid , on remitting price to the Publishers , 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Pa, 



MAJOR JONES’S COURTSHIP 

AND HIS OTHER BOOKS, FOR SALE BY ALL BOOKSELLERS, AND PUBLISHED BY 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, PHILADELPHIA. 


Major Jones’s Courtship. 

MAJOR JONES’S COURTSHIP. Detailed, with Humorous Scenes, Inci- 
dents, and Adventures. By Major Joseph Jones, author of “Raney Cot« 
tern’s Courtship,” “Major Jones’s Sketches of Travel,” “Major Jones’s 
Chronicles of Pineville,” etc. Revised and Enlarged. With Twenty-One 
Full Page Illustrations on Tinted Plate Paper, by Darley and Cary. One 
volume, 12mo., uniform with this volume, price 75 cents. 

Raney Cottem’s Courtship. 

RANCY COTTEM’S COURTSHIP. With Other Humorous Stories. By 
Major Joseph Jones, author of “ Major Jones’s Courtship,” “ Major Jones’s 
Sketches of Travel,” “ Major Jones’s Chronicles of Pineville,” etc. With 
Eight Full Page Illustrations on Tinted Plate Paper, by Cary. One vol- 
ume, 12mo., uniform with this volume, price 50 cents. 

Major Jones’s Sketches of Travel. 

MAJOR JONES’S SKETCHES OF TRAVEL. Comprising Scenes, Inci- 
dents, Adventures and Experiences in each town, while on his tour from 
Georgia to Canada, and back to Georgia. By Major Joseph Jones, author 
of “Major Jones’s Courtship,” “Raney Cottem’s Courtship,” “Major 
Jones’s Chronicles of Pineville,” etc. With Eight Full Page Illustra- 
tions on Tinted Paper, by Darley. One vol., 12mo., uniform with this 
volume, price 75 cents. 

Major Jones’s Chronicles of Pineville. 

MAJOR JONES’S CHRONICLES OF PINEVILLE. Comprising his cele- 
brated Sketches of Georgia Scenes, with their Incidents and Characters. 
By Major Joseph Jones, author of “Major Jones’s Courtship,” “Raney 
Cottem’s Courtship,” “Major Jones’s Sketches of Travel,” etc. With 
Twelve Full Page Illustrations on Tinted Plate Paper, by Darley. One 
volume, 12mo., uniform with this volume, price 75 cents. 


tgzgT Above Boohs by Major Jones , are for sale by all Booksellers and Metes 
Agents, or copies of any one or all of them, will be sent to any one, to any place, 
at once , post-paid , on remitting the price of the ones wanted , to the publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Pa. 


"It is worth double its price.”— Ottawa, (Canada). Advertiser. 


•^CHEAPEST .A-ISriD BESTIR 


PETERSON’S MAGAZINE 

^FULL-SIZE PAPER PATTERfiS!^ 

« ... . . 

J&tf* A Supplement will be given in every number for 1879, containing a full-size pattern sheet for a 
lady's, or child's dress. Every subscriber will receive, during the year, twelve of these patterns, so that these 
alone will be worth more than the subscription price. Great improvements will also be made in other r«- 
spects.^isA), 


“ Peterson’s Magazine ” contains, every year. 1000 pages, 14 steel plates. 12 colored Berlin patterns, 
12 mammoth colored fashion plates, 24 pages of music, and about 9U0 wood cuts. Iis principal embel- 
lishments are 

SUPERB STEEL ENGRAVINGS! 

Its immense circulation enables its proprietor to spend more on embellishments, stories, &c. than 
any other. It gives more for the money, and combines more merits, than any in tne world. Its 

TOMS Am 

Are the best published anywhere. All the most popular writers are employed to write originally f of 
“ Peterson." 1 n 1879, in addition to the usual quantity of short stories, FIVE ORIGINAL COPYRIGHT 
NOVELETTES will be given, by Ann S. Stephens, Frank Lee Benedict, Frances Hodgson Burnett, 
Jane G. Austin, and that unrivalled humorist, the author of “ Josiah Allen’s Wife.” 



Ahead of all others. These plates are engraved on steel, twice the usual size, and are unequalled for 
beauty. They will be superbly colored. Also, Household and other receipts; articles on “Wax-Work 
Flowers,” “ Management of Infants in short everything interesting to ladies. 

JV. B . — As the publishers vow prepay the postage to all mail subscribers , “ Peterson ” is cheaper than 
ever; in fact is the cheapest in tiie would 




TERMS (Always in Advance) $2.00 A TTI2AR,. 

PRICES TO C&UBS 

( With a copy of the premium picture (24 x 20) “ Christ Blessing 
! Little Children,” a five do. tar ennraving , to the person getting up 
b the Club. 

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( the person getting up the Club. 

{ With both an extra copy of the Magazine for 1879. and the 
premium picture, a f ve dollar engraving, to the person getting up 
the Club. 

Address, post-paid, 

CHARLES J. PETERSON, 

306 Cia.eetn.ut St., Philadelphia 

Specimens sent gratis if written for. 


2 Copies for $3.5 0 

3 “ “ 4.50 

4 Copies for $8-50 

6 “ “ 9.00 

5 Copies for $8.00 

7 a “ 10.50 


Emile Zola’s New Books. 


The Greatest Novels Tver Printed. 


L’ASSOMMOIR. By Emile Zola, author of “ The Rougon -Mac- 
quart Family,” “Helene,” “The Abbe’s Temptation,” etc. 
“ L’Assommoir ” is the Greatest as well as the most Popular 
Novel ever published. It has already attained a sale of over 
One Hundred Thousand Copies in Paris. Complete in 
one large square duodecimo volume, price 75 cents in paper 
cover, or One Dollar in Morocco Cloth, Black and Gold. 

THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY; or, LA FOR- 
TUNE DES ROUGON. By Emile Zola, author of 
“ L’Assommoir,” “Helene; or, Une Page D’Amour,” “The 
Abbe’s Temptation,” etc. Complete in one large square 
duodecimo volume, price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 
in Morocco Cloth, Black and Gold. 

HELENE; A LOVE EPISODE; or, UNE PAGE 
D’AMO OR. By Emile Zola , author of “L’Assommoir,” 
“The Abbe’s Temptation,” “The Rougon-Macquart Fam- 
ily,” etc. One large square duodecimo volume, price 75 cents 
in paper cover, or $1.25 in Morocco Cloth, Black and Gold. 

THE ABBE’S TEMPTATION; or, LA FAUTE DE 
L’ABBE MOURET. By Emile Zola, author of 
“L’Assommoir,” “Helene; or, Une Page D’Amour,” “The 
Rougon-Macquart Family,” etc. Complete in one large 
square duodecimo volume, price 75 cents in paper cover, 
or $1.25 in Morocco Cloth, Black and Gold. 

EMILE SOLA’S BOOKS IN PRESS. Nana! Th&fcse 
Raquin! Le Mort d’Olivier Becaille ! LaCur6e! Le Ventre 
De Paris ! La Conquete De Plassans ! Son Excellence 
Eugene Rougon ! Contes a Ninon ! Mes Haines ! Nouveaux 
Contes a Ninon ! Les Mysteres de Marseilles ! etc. 


i||rA&ove Boohs are for sale by all Booksellers and News Agents , or copies of any or all 
will be sent to any place , at once , per mail, post-paid, on remitting price to the Publishers , 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 

306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa. 


'.W BOOKS BY THE VERY BEST AUTHORS. 

i - — 

TAe following New Books are printed on tinted paper , and are issued in uniform style , 
i square 12 mo. form . Price Fifty Cents each in Paper Cover, or One Dollar each in Morocco 
■loth, Black and Gold. They are Twenty-seven of the best and most charming Novels ever printed. 


dONNE-MARIE. A Love Story. By Henry Greville, author of “ Dosia,” “ Marrying Off 
a Daughter,” “ Saveli’s Expiation,” “ Markof,” “ Sonia,” and “ Gabrielle.” 

MISS MARGERY’S ROSES. A Charming Love Story. By Robert C. Meyers. 

DOURNOF. A Russian Story. By Henry Greville, author of “ Dosia,” “Saveli’s Expia- 
tion,” “ Bonne-Marie,” “ Philomene’s Marriages,” and “ Marrying Off a Daughter.” 

THEO.” A Love Story. By Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett, author of “ Kathleen.” 

ATHLEEN. A Love Story. By Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett, author of “ Theo,” 
“ Pretty Polly Pemberton,” “ Miss Crespigny,” “ A Quiet Life,” etc. 

IISS CRESPIGNY. A Love Story. By Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett, author of “ Theo.” 

dONIA. A Russian Love Story. By Henry Gr'eville, author of “ Marrying Off a Daughter,” 
“ Dosia,” “ Markof,” etc. Translated from the French, by Mary Neal Sherwood. 

A QUIET LIFE. By Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett, author of “ Kathleen,” and “ Theo.” 

A FRIEND; or, L’AMIE. By Henry Gr'eville, author of “Sonia,” “ Saveli’s Expiation,” 
“ Markof,” and “ Marrying Off a Daughter.” Translated by Miss Helen Stanley. 

?RETTY POLLY PEMBERTON. A Love Story. By Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett. 

A WOMAN’S MISTAKE; or, JACQUES DF TREVANNES. A Charming Love Story. 
By Madame Anglle Dussaud. Translated by Mary Neal Sherwood. 

YBIL BROTHERTON. A Novel. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth. 

ATHEP. TOM AND THE POPE ; or, A NIGHT AT THE VATICAN. With Full Page 
111 istrations of the scenes that took place there between the Pope and Father Tom. 

[ADELEINE. A Love Story. By Jules Sandeau. Crowned by the French Academy. 

AVELI’S EXPIATION. By Henry Greville, author of “ Dosia.” A dramatic and power- 
ful novel of Russian life. Translated from the French, by Mary Neal Sherwood. 

VO WAYS TO MATRIMONY ; or, IS IT LOVE ? or, FALSE PRIDE. 

iBRIELLE; or, THE H USE OF MAUREZE. Translated from the French of Henry 
Gr'eville, author of “Saveli’s Expiation,” “ Markof,” “Sonia,” “Dosia,” “A Friend.” 

HE STORY OF “ELIZABETH.” By Miss Thackeray, daughter of W. M. Thackeray. 

HE DAYS OF MADAME POMPADOUR; ,r, MADAME POMPADOUR’S GARTER. A 
Romance of the Reign of Louis XV. By Gabrielle De St. Andre. 

ARMEN. By Prosper Merimee. From which the opera of “ Carmen ” was dramatized. 

HE MATCHMAKER. A Charming Novel. By Beatrice Reynolds. All the pictures, 
characters, and scenes in it, have all the freshness of life, and vitality of truth. 

HE RED HILL TRAGEDY. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth. 

HE AMOURS OF PHILLIPPE. “ Piiillippe’s Love Affairs.” By Octave Feuillet. 

ANCHON, THE CRICKET; or, LA PETITE FADETTE. By George Sand. 

ESSIE’S SIX LOVERS. A Charming Love Story, of the purest and best kind. 

‘HAT GIRL OF MINE. A Love Story. By the author of 11 That Lover of Mine.” 

:HAT LOVER OF MINE. By the author of (l That Girl of Mine” 

Above are 50 Cents each in paper cover, or $1.00 each in cloth. 

Jg'f’ Above Books are for sale by all Booksellers and News Agents, or copies of any one or 

ill of them, will be sent to any one, at once, post-paid, on remitting price to the publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelplna, Pa. 


NEW BOOKS BY THE VERY BEST AUTHORS! 

FOR SALE BY ALL BOOKSELLERS, AND PUBUSHED BY 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS , PHILADELPHIA 

L’ASSOMMOIR. A Novel. By Emile Zola, author of “The Rougon-Macquart Family,’ 
“The Amours of a Page,” etc. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.00 in cloth. 

THE ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY; or, LA FORTUNE DES ROUGON. By Emile 
Zola, author of “ L’Assommoir.” Price 75 cents in paper, or $1.25 in cloth, black and gold. 1 

THE AMOURS OF A PAGE; or, HELENE; or, UNE PAGE D’ AMOUR. By Emile Zola} 
author of “ L’Assommoir,” etc. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in cloth. 

THE ABBE’S TEMPTATION; or, LA FAUTE DE L’ABBE MOURET. By Emile Zola, j 
author of “ L’Assommoir.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in cloth, black and gold. 

UNDER THE WILLOWS; or, THE THREE COUNTESSES. By Elizabeth Van Loon, 
author of “A Heart Twice Won,” “ Shadow of Hampton Mead.” Cloth, black and gold. $1.50. 

MARKOF, THE RUSSIAN VIOLINIST. A Russian Story. By Henry Greville, author 
of “ Dosia,” “ Marrying Off a Daughter,” etc. One large volume, cloth, price $1.50. 

MAJOR JONES’S COURTSHIP. Author’s New and Rewritten Edition. By Major Joseph 
Jones, of Pineville, Georgia. With 21 Illustrations by Darley and Cary. Price 75 cents. 

A HEART TWICE WON ; or, SECOND LOVE. A Love Story. By 3Irs. Elizabeth Van 
Loon, author of “The Shadow of Hampton Mead.” Cloth, black and gold. Price $1.50. 

THE SHADOW OF HAMPTON MEAD. A Charming Story. By Mrs. Elizabeth Van 
Loon, author of “A Heart Twice Won.” Morocco cloth, black and gold. Price $1.50. 

DOSIA. A Russian Story. By Henry Greville, author of “ Marrying Off a Daughter,”* 
“ Saveli’s Expiation,” and “ Gabrielle.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in cloth. 

MAJOR JONES’S SCENES IN GEORGIA. With Full Page Illustrations, from Original \ 

Designs by Darley. Morocco cloth, gilt and black. Price $1.50. 

THE LAST ATHENIAN. By Victor Rydberg. This is one of the most remarkable books 
ever published. One volume, 12mo., 600 pages, cloth, price $1.75. 

MARRYING OFF A DAUGHTER. A Love Story. By Henry Greville, author of “ Dosia,” 

“ Saveli’s Expiation,” and “ Markof.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in cloth. 

PHILOMENE’S MARRIAGES. With Author’s Preface. By Henry Gr&ville, author of 
“ Dosia,” and “ Marrying Off a Daughter.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in cloth. 

PRETTY LITTLE COUNTESS ZINA. By Henry Greville, author of “ Dosia,” “Saveli’s 
Expiation,” “ Sonia,” and “ Markof.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in cloth. 

THE COUNT DE CAMORS. The Man of the Second Empire. By Octave Feuillet, author 
of “ The Amours of Phillippe.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in cloth. 

THE SWAMP DOCTOR’S ADVENTURES IN THE SOUTH-WEST. With Fourteen Illus- 
trations, from Original Designs by Darley. Morocco cloth, gilt and black. Price $1.50. 

COLONEL THORPE’S SCENES IN ARKANSAW. With Sixteen Illustrations, from 
Original Designs by Darley. Morocco cloth, gilt and black. Price $1.50. 

HIGH LIFE IN NEW YORK. By Jonathan Slick. With Illustrations. Price $1.50. 

RANCY COTTEM’S COURTSHIP. By author “ Major Jones’s Courtship.” Illus. 50 cts. 

JARL’S DAUGHTER. By 3Irs. Frances Hodgson Burnett. Paper cover, price 25 cents. 

LINDSAY’S LUCK. By Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett. Paper cover, price 25 cents. 

IggpA&ove Books are for sale by all Booksellers and News Agents, or copies of any one or 
oil of them , will be sent to any one, at once, post-paid, on remitting price to the Publishers, 

X* B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Pa. 

















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